Carmichael
by animusnox
Summary: Despite Bryce's attempt to frame Chuck of stealing Fleming's test in order to make sure he doesn't get involved in the spy business, Chuck ends up becoming a CIA recruit. Future Chuck/Sarah. In-Progress.
1. Chuck Versus The Stanford Debacle

Carmichael

AU. The CIA recruits Chuck for the Omaha Project despite Bryce's attempt to protect him from the government.

Note: I do not own Chuck no matter how much I wish I did.

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><p><em><strong>Chuck Versus The Stanford Debacle<strong>_

**Spring 2003**

**4:30 PM**

**Stanford University**

**Stanford, California**

When Bryce Larkin had heard of Professor Flemming's intention to recruit Chuck for the CIA's Omaha Project the year after he himself was recruited, he was more than determined to prevent it. It was not due to some petty feeling of rivalry with Chuck; it was more of this overwhelming feeling to protect his best friend. The _only _best friend he's ever had. The spy life was not for one Charles Irving Bartowski. _It would destroy him._

His plan to frame Chuck of cheating on one of Flemming's tests had gone without a hitch. It pained him to sacrifice Chuck's friendship, but he kept up his unsympathetic appearance as he watched Chuck dejectedly shuffle out of their fraternity house with his things. _It's for your own good, Chuck._

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><p><em>Why would Bryce do this?<em> The thought kept repeating in his head with every step he took away from the fraternity house that once held great memories now overshadowed by this one debacle. It was obvious that Bryce had framed him for cheating, Chuck could not think of any reason as to why he would. _I thought we were friends. _

The whole ordeal had happened so fast that Chuck realized he wasn't able to tell his sister, Ellie. He slumped his shoulders even more. _What am I going to say? Hey, El. How am I? I'm fantastic. Bryce got me kicked out of Stanford for cheating, which I know you'll believe me when I say I didn't. I might crash over at your place for a while if that's okay. Possibly get a job at the Buymore where Morgan works while I revise my five year plan._

He didn't notice that he had walked a good few blocks or so away from the ongoing parties that accumulated in the area around the sororities and frat houses until he realized how deafening his thoughts were in the silence while he walked along the empty street. Dropping his possessions beside him as he took a seat on the edge of the sidewalk, he drew in a slow, deep breath. It did not at all calm him when the enormity of it all began to hit him.

He really did have no other alternative than to get a job at the Burbank Buymore. No other choice but to mooch of Ellie whom he knew would be more than willingly take care of him even with her med school loans to pay off. _No, no, no, no…._ He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, wishing he could just forget it all.

"Charles Bartowski?" Chuck looked up to a dark-skinned man with an incredibly stern face, waiting for a response after what seemed to be a prolonged ten seconds.

"Yes?" Chuck's eyebrow slightly rose along with his reply. He noticed the man's erect posture which was the complete opposite of his slouched form.

"I am here to give you an offer. It would mean a great deal to your country if you accepted." Whilst he spoke, he compared the file he had received of a Charles Irving Bartowski with the lanky young man in front of him.

It was hard to believe that Bartowski would cheat from what he had read; it would conflict the kid's lifelong meek, yet honest demeanor. Included with how well he scored on Flemming's test, he needed to see for himself if it was too good to be true.

Receiving the all clear in his earpiece, the man continued to address Chuck. "My name is Langston Graham. I am part of the CIA. I am certain you have heard of us."

"Wait, whoa. This is a joke, right?" Chuck looked at Graham then around them to see if there were any possibly hidden cameras to document the horrible day he's been having. "I'm not being filmed right? No hidden cameras? Because if this is some sick joke, I –"

"I assure you, Mr. Bartowski. This is far from a joke." Graham bluntly stated, hoping Bartowski would listen to him long enough before rambling again. "I am here to extend you an offer to join the agency."

It was to Graham's surprise that Chuck actually remained silent, contemplating on what had just been said to him. Slowly, he nodded. "Can I sleep on it?"

"Don't sleep on it for too long." Extending out his card, Graham observed while Chuck briefly hesitated before taking it. "Contact me when you have an answer."

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><p><strong>The Next Day<strong>

**8:42 PM**

**Casa de Bartowski**

**Echo Park, Los Angeles, California**

"Chuck!" The door opened right away as Chuck had raised his hand to knock. He smiled weakly, feeling his sister greet him in the form of a tight squeeze. "I listened to the message you left me earlier today. How are you feeling? Do you want to talk about it?"

"Sis, I – I'm fine." He looked down at his sister who finally relinquished him from her hug. She was searching his face for the truth, her brown eyes filled with worry and concern. Softly sighing at how he knew that Eleanor Faye Bartowski would not let him go until he fully confided everything to her, Chuck kissed her forehead and made his way into her abode. "I'm bushed. I mean I spent about half a day's worth traveling via the ole' reliable public transit and I have a lot to think about so mind if I crash in the guest room?"

Ellie nodded in consent. "Fine, Chuck. But we will talk in the morning." A faint smile appeared on her face as she watched her little brother carry the Tron poster their father gave him when he was younger along with him. _Only he would bring that poster all the way back here. _She shook her head and sighed. _Why would anyone do this to my brother?_

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><p>He immediately sunk facedown into the guest room's queen sized bed. The sheets smelled as if they were fresh from the wash. <em>Ugh. So comfortable.<em> It was a complete contrast to the dingy motel room he spent in the previous night in order to get some rest before utilizing his bus pass for the day ahead.

_Graham! _Chuck thought, rolling over and digging into his pockets in search of the card that held the contact information of the man recruiting him into the CIA. Pulling out his phone as well, he dialed the number he was given.

"Graham secure." An austere voice responded the exact moment the first ring had ended.

"Uh, hey. This is Chuck from the other –"

"Are you secure or not?" Graham interrupted him before he could finish.

"I'm secure. Er, Bartowski, secure, sir." Chuck quickly replied, hoping to pacify the other line's demand. "I'm in."

Graham smiled. Well, inwardly. He had been in an absurdly arduous meeting with an irritating redhead from the NSA, but Bartowski's answer, though anticipated, was going to be his source of satisfaction for the rest of the day. Or at least until the end of the meeting.

"Good to hear. I'll contact you after the necessary preparations have been made. I believe it will be all done by tomorrow in 1200 hours; your time, of course."

The call ended as promptly as it had started. Chuck stared at the ceiling, contemplating what he had gotten himself into. _CIA, huh? I wonder if they can hook me up with an Aston Martin. The name's Bartowski. Charles Bartowski. _He chuckled as his eyelids started becoming heavier. Yawning, sleep gradually began to overcome him.

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><p><em>Oh my g- What is that amazing smell?<em> Chuck slowly inhaled again the mouthwatering scent that he knew was emanating from the kitchen. He jumped off the bed, wide awake now, and made way towards the source.

"Morning, sleepyhead." Ellie greeted as she effortlessly flipped the pancake onto its other side without any help from a spatula. "Up for some chocolate chip pancakes?" She prepared two for Chuck and poured a generous amount of syrup onto it before holding it out to her brother.

"Of course!" Chuck gratefully took the plate from his sister and went to eat at the rectangular long dining table on the other side of the kitchen's window partition.

Grabbing her cup of tea, Ellie joined him at the table; he noticed that she was allowing him to get a few bites of the pancake before questioning him. "Do you want to tell me what happened now?"

He looked up from his plate, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Finally, he responded. "Sure."

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><p>Thanks for reading! Reviews mean the world to me! I would very much like to know what you think.<p>

More reviews equal to faster updates since I get ideas on what to write!


	2. Chuck Versus The Long Trip

Thanks for reading Chapter 1! I actually didn't think anyone would be interested; I was also thinking of scrapping this since I got a new idea for another story, but I thought I should keep going and not let y'all down. I'm still relatively new to how this site works and what not. I do hope people keep reviewing and perhaps give me some ideas for upcoming chapters. Pardon the title; I didn't know what to call it and well, he had a long trip so... Enjoy!

Note: I do not own Chuck despite how much I wish I did.

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><p><em><strong>Chuck Versus The Long Trip<strong>_

**Spring 2003**

**1156 Hours**

**CIA Building**

**Washington D.C.**

Graham was immersed in reading some files when his assistant entered briefly to update him. "Sir, the arrangements you had asked for have been made. The private jet has arrived at LAX and is awaiting to bring the new recruit to Langley. Also, Assistant Director Beckman of the NSA had left a message for you to contact her ASAP."

"Thank you. That is all." He knew he was going to take his time contacting Beckman; she had been a thorn on his side during that entire meeting the other day so he found that this subtle revenge should be enough to keep him satisfied.

Glancing at his desk clock, he noticed that it was time to contact Bartowski. He frowned when the phone was not answered until the last possible ring.

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><p><strong>12:00 PM<strong>

**Casa de Bartowski**

**Echo Park, Los Angeles, California**

"Hello?" Chuck asked since he didn't recognize the number when his phone started ringing.

"Graham secure." _Goodness._ Graham physically shook his head at how Bartowski had not caught on with phone procedure.

"Oh, right. Bartowski secure." Rolling his eyes, Chuck again acceded to Graham's wishes to sound funny at the start of a phone call. _Well, I am going to be a spy now. I guess this is how I greet fellow spies?_

"A private jet is expecting you in LAX. It will bring you to our HQ out in Langley. Once there, you'll begin training. Pack light and head to the airport as soon as you can. Questions?"

"Uh, yes. So what do I tell my sister? Do I tell her the truth?" Graham sighed as he began to doubt if Bartowski was capable of becoming an agent.

"No. Of course not. You lie. Make up something favorable towards unexpected trips and the long absences."

"Right, right. Spies lie. Of course." Chuck mentally chastised himself for sounding naïve. _No duh, Chuck. Geez._

Before any more questions formed, he heard the other end of the phone hang up after a brief "Graham out." _What do I tell, Ellie? _He had only just relinquished every single honest detail about what happened at Stanford to her that morning_. Minus the lies of omission_, he thought.

"Chuck, what do you want for lunch?" He heard her voice come from the kitchen, knowing that she started her weekend routine of deciding whether to cook or order something.

_Just wing it, I guess._ Flipping his phone closed, he spun on his heel and headed to his sister's location. "Hey. I was thinking."

Ellie put down the take-out menus and looked up at her brother from the table, tilting her head slightly. "And?"

"Um, I think I shouldn't stay and mope around here. I should be updating my five year plan to fit my, uh, predicament."

"You're not going to mope around?" She said incredulously. After taking a brief moment to absorb what Chuck had said, she couldn't help but literally perk up.

He gave her his own version of the trademark Bartowski mega-watt smile and nodded. "Yeah, well, I kinda already did. During that trip down here, I moped. A lot. So I thought, you know, enough is enough."

Ellie couldn't help herself as she went to give her brother a tight hug. "You're really growing up, Chuck. What are you thinking of doing?"

Returning the hug, he smiled. "There are so many things I can do. I mean, I can start that two-man circus with Morgan."

"Really? The one you both tried to start when you were ten. No. Think again, Chuck."

"I could go up into the mountains and find a grand master to teach me the ancient art of origami." He was met with his sister's 'Really?' look. "Um, it's kind of funny since origami is paper fold- "

Shaking her head, she saved herself from the joke's explanation. "Seriously."

"Er, well." Chuck frowned, racking his brain for sufficient reasons he would be gone. "I think I should really just go. Out there. I should go out and experience the world for what it truly is. I mean the reason this entire Bryce thing happened was because I easily trusted him. I should- I should stop doing that."

"But trusting people is what makes you, you."

"I know, it's endearing, but what I'm saying is that I need to learn to control how much I trust a person. I can't just go out and give people the key to our apartment willy-nilly because I easily trusted them." He looked at his sister, hoping he was making a valid argument as his mouth kept going for him. "I'll work some odd jobs to get by. Hopefully, learn a thing or two."

Sighing, Ellie gave Chuck another squeeze. "You really need to do this, huh?"

"Yeah." Chuck smiled softly and nodded.

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><p><strong>0100 Hours<strong>

**CIA Headquarters**

**Langley, Virginia**

Chuck stifled a yawn as he got out of the black Volvo S80 that he was picked up in at the airport about two hours ago.

"Mr. Bartowski," A tall, blonde woman with similarly stern face as Graham addressed him. Immediately after a short pause so Chuck could grab his bags, the woman turned on her black pumps and headed back towards the CIA building. "Follow me."

Chuck quickly moved to her side as the glass doors slid open to accept them in. He couldn't help but perceptibly turn his head in order to look at everything. He softly breathed, "Wow."

The woman led him through a maze of hallways until finally stopping in front of a door that appeared to be like the many other doors they had passed. She promptly knocked and opened the door for Chuck. "Enter."

Just as he stepped inside, he felt the door instantly against his back. He noticed the blinds were drawn over the window wall on the other side of the room. The room was mostly taken up by the conference table and the black swivel chairs that surrounded it.

"Bartowski, sit." Langston Graham nodded curtly before continuing to look back at the files that laid in front of him.

Yielding to his request, Chuck awkwardly dropped his luggage beside him, resulting with a loud _thump._

"I told you to pack light." Graham stated while he shuffled his papers into order.

"This isn't light?" Chuck asked, slightly anxious. "I thought it was."

"No matter." Finally looking up at Bartowski, Graham faintly furrowed his eyebrows, but it went unnoticed by Chuck. "Mr. Bartowski, what I'm about to tell you is top-secret. Only a few handful know of this."

Chuck nodded, his attention caught.

"You are part of the Omaha project. We were sent data about you from a recruitment officer in Stanford. I was already in the vicinity upon your expulsion. Despite that, your results for that test were the most desirable for the position at hand, thus the Director granted the go-ahead to recruit you. Due to the fact that it would conflict with your moral history, we know that you didn't cheat."

Staring at the mahogany conference table, Chuck took some time to process the information. _They know I didn't cheat. _He sighed in relief._ Omaha Project?_

"Here at Langley, you will undergo training along with the other recruits. After daily training, you may go about your business as you wish. The only difference between you and your fellow recruits is that you will meet Agent Forrest after dinner at 1900 hours in this room for testing."

He froze. _Agent Forrest? Testing? _"With probes and stuff?"

Graham shook his head. "The test you were framed for cheating on was on subliminal messages. It coincides with what the Omaha project is about. Also, Agent Forrest is the one who led you here."

Without warning, Graham slid the file across the table to Chuck who unskillfully caught the file before it slid past him. "Agh!"

Ignoring Bartowski's yelp, Graham resumed the briefing. "That file involves all you need to know about the Omaha project." _For someone at your clearance level, anyway._ "Agent Forrest will show you to the training complex in which you will reside in. Training starts at 0600 hours. It's approximately 0200. I suggest you get some sleep, Bartowski."

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><p>I definitely guesstimated the time it would take for Chuck to get from LAX to Richmond, VA then to Langley. It turns out it's about an 8 hour flight (more or less) then two hours to Langley. From my research, it seems that Langley has been absorbed into the community of McLean for quite a while now. I'm keeping it called Langley though for the story's sake. Do tell me your opinions on what you think is going to happen. Much thanks!<p>

Also, I'm working on the next update so don't worry!


	3. Chuck Versus The Flash

Sorry for the wait! I would've updated sooner, but my internet has been down for the past week. Please do review and enjoy!

Note: I do not own Chuck and what not, but I think my friend will buy me the first season on DVD for my birthday since it's only $20 at Target, haha.

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><p><em><strong>Chuck Versus The Flash<strong>_

**16 August 2003**

**0500 Hours**

**CIA Training Complex**

**CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia**

Chuck stretched upon waking up, his long limbs extending beyond the length of his bed. It made sleeping awkward since he had to curl up a bit, but he knew better than to complain. After all, he did nothing but when he first arrived. It was mostly due to sleep deprivation though. _Yep, sleep deprivation._

Grabbing a worn-out grey shirt to wear that coincidentally matched with his sweats, Chuck headed out to begin the daily routine that he originally created so he would get in shape fast in order to be in par with his fellow recruits. It somehow managed to become a way for him to prepare himself for the day.

He made his way to the indoor track, performing warm-up stretches when he arrived. It was relatively quiet except for the muffled pounding that seemed to come from the room adjoining the track. The room contained an assortment of martial arts training equipment and had a large sparring mat as its flooring; this earned it the nickname 'The Dojo' among those who utilized the center.

Peering into the Dojo, he saw his superior and mentor Agent Forrest. He noticed she took a brief break so he waved as he walked in. "Agent Forrest."

"Bartowski." The blonde woman nodded in acknowledgement before circling around the heavy bag once more, stopping only to deliver controlled and concise punches that caused the bag to swing erratically upon impact.

Chuck made his way to one of the bins along the side of the room, acquiring a jump rope from it. Making sure there was room around him, he began to establish his rhythm by side swinging the rope; he expertly alternated the foot he used to jump off the ground. His mind began to clear from his mind as his only thoughts were on the sound of the rope whistling over his head and swiping at the ground.

Agent Forrest paused for another break after half an hour or so and found Bartowski still at it with the rope. _Better than he was a few months ago_, she thought. Checking her watch, it was almost 0600. "Bartowski, hit the showers. I don't want you stinking up the place during training."

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><p><strong>0800 Hours<strong>

**CIA Building**

**Washington D.C.**

Graham sighed as he rubbed his temples. He looked up at the problematic operative in front of him. "Please do tell me again, Larkin. Why did you make Fleming collaborate with you to frame a desirable out of recruitment and then proceed as if you did nothing? The CIA is filled with the best that this business has to offer. Surely, you knew that you would be found out someday?"

"I did, sir. I thought it'd be a while though." Bryce said with a slight smirk on his face.

"Nevertheless, you've shown promise in your training. My superior wants you in the agency." Inwardly rolling his eyes, Graham handed a file to Larkin. "Hence, this is your last test. Upon its completion, you will be an official agent of the CIA."

Bryce scanned the file, questioning no one in particular. "Red test?"

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><p><strong>1100 Hours<strong>

**CIA Training Complex**

**CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia**

"Welcome to Infiltration and Inducement of Enemy Personnel." The gray haired man smiled whilst taking a sip from his martini. "Also known as 'Seduction School.' I'm your instructor Roan Montgomery."

Chuck frowned as he watched Roan finish his third martini within the first five minutes of Seduction School. _That man's poor liver._ Due to the seats in the front being taken up by the female percentage of the class, he was left with a seat towards the back.

"The last few weeks of your training will consist of learning more about the opposite sex, techniques on how to use this knowledge, and by the end of Seduction School, you will be more than capable to seduce your mark." He kissed the hand of one of the girls in the front, rendering the rest of them to giggle amongst themselves.

Holding his hand before he literally facepalmed himself, Chuck sighed. _Geez. _

"Now, recruits. I want all of you to group up into pairs. One boy and one girl." Roan chuckled at the lack of movement in the room. Downing the rest of his martini, he just as easily made another one to replace it. "They don't have cooties, ladies. I assure you."

Chuck started to feel downcast as none of the girls had approached him to be his partner. _Just like college again. And high school and middle school. _

Just as Roan was about to comment on Bartowski's lone wolf status, he noticed his hunched frame. He pretended to watch the class from the back as he muttered softly within Bartowski's earshot. "You are not the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Straighten up. Confidence goes a long way."

It took a while for Chuck to realize that Roan was speaking to him and when he did, Roan had already returned to the front as he motioned to one of the girls to join 'lone wolf' in the back.

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><p><strong>8:30 AM<strong>

**Casa de Bartowski**

**Echo Park, Los Angeles, California**

Ellie poured herself a mug of hot tea, inhaling the calming herbal aroma. She found her place in the dinner table and began to mindlessly skim through an edition of People magazine for anything interesting.

"Hey, babe!" Her boyfriend walked in with a wide, genuine smile as he hauled his bike off to the side. "Man, I just had an awesome work out."

She felt him kiss her cheek while he hugged her from behind. She smiled as she looked over her shoulder at him. "That's wonderful, Devon."

Tilting his head, Devon asked. "What's wrong? Did you want to join in today's bike ride? I'm – I'm sorry, I didn't know. I'll make it up to you tomorrow! We can go bouldering!"

"No! I mean, ahem, no." Ellie smiled at him and got up to peck him on the lips. "As much as I love extreme sports, I'm more concerned about Chuck right now."

After pouring himself a cup of joe, Devon took a sip of his coffee. "Where is he anyway?"

She sighed, putting down her mug to cross her arms. "I don't know. He said he's in the east coast, but that was two months ago. Who knows where he is now?"

"Hey," Kissing her cheek, he looked at his girlfriend's troubled, yet still captivating brown eyes. "Knowing Chuck, I'm sure he's fine. He's a grown man now, El."

Ellie gave him a weak smile and pecked him on the lips once more. "I know. I just can't help but be concerned."

Devon nodded. "It's one of the many things I love about you." He grinned.

"I taught you so well." Smiling even more, Ellie grabbed his hand. She whispered as she bit her lower lip. "Come on. We both still have plenty of time before our shifts start."

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><p><strong>1900 Hours<strong>

**CIA Headquarters**

**Langley, Virginia**

"Bartowski," Forrest addressed him in front of the conference room prior to walking inside. "You're late."

Chuck shook his head and glanced at his watch. "It's exactly seven."

"Not according to the clock." She pointed to a wall clock that hung above the doorway; it turned to 7:01 PM the exact moment Chuck stepped inside the room to look at it.

"Whaat? That's not fair." He smiled good-naturedly as Agent Forrest placed a laptop in front of him.

"Enjoy." She said while she put on her shades in the dimly lit room.

"All right, play time's over." Chuck replied, hitting the Enter key to activate the system.

Instantly, hundreds of images sped through the screen. Forrest watched as Bartowski's body froze as his subconscious absorbed the encoded information. Once the barrage of pictures was over, Chuck gasped as he snapped out of his stasis.

"How long was it?" He asked uneasily. He remembered the first time they gave him a minute of the images; he had almost thrown up after the first 'flash' as Graham liked to call it. _It was only one flash during that first time, but the guy I had to flash on had a LONG record._

"An hour. Remember to control your face and take deep breaths. It doesn't control you." Forrest answered with a small amount of concern that was evident in her voice. She held out a card with a picture of a dark haired man possessing a pale complexion and a pair of shifty eyes.

Chuck's face contorted from discomfort as he pursed his lips while his eyelids fluttered, his eyes going slightly cross-eyed. "Agh."

_Polar bear_

_Laszlo Mahnovski_

_Playland Arcade on the Pier_

_Numerous files on CIA weapons projects_

_Polar bear_

Taking a slow, deep breath, Chuck identified the man as Laszlo Mahnovski. "He was recruited when he was just a kid at Playland arcade at the Santa Monica Pier. The CIA employed him to work on top secret weapon projects. He currently is in a secured CIA bunker somewhere in the OC, where his handlers keep a strict watch on him."

Forrest softly grunted in approval. "You said more than the back of the card had. All it said was that he works on weapons projects for us."

Frowning, Chuck shook his head. "I need to work on my face."

"You'll get there. Now, next one." She held out another card, causing Chuck to sigh.

_Here we go._

* * *

><p>Mentally drained from the subliminal imaging tests and physically exhausted from the day's training regime, Chuck was on the verge of collapsing. <em>Get up, Chuck. Come on!<em> He gripped the edge of the table and unsteadily stood up. "I'm too weak." He muttered, obviously frustrated about his state.

"You did what I assume would be around ten missions worth of flashing within the past hour." Agent Forrest awkwardly patted Chuck on the back. "So, uh, you did good, Bartowski."

The patting was nice, but a little too hard for him to handle. His face paled before he collapsed face-first on the floor.

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><p><strong>17 August 2003<strong>

**0230 Hours**

**Agent Forrest's Living Quarters**

**CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia**

"Forrest." Alexandra answered her phone straightaway, pushing herself upright in her bed.

"Pardon the late hour, Agent Forrest." Her superior's curt voice spoke in turn. "I understand that Bartowski has been surpassing what our scientists did not believe would be achieved. Has he been retaining the information well?"

"Yes, sir. He has shown his exceptional ability to recall and hold the encoded information as well as excel in Langley's modified training program." She reprimanded herself mentally for allowing her curiosity to get the best of her as she inquired to Graham. "May I know as to why we have extended the normal six week training period for Bartowski into several months now, sir?"

Graham let out a quiet chuckle. _Agent Forrest is getting restless. _"We need to continue the 'tests' on him in order to prepare him for the real thing. I want you to push him harder and harder, encourage improvement over the control of his flashes. They should not be easily detected, by any means. Furthermore, I want him in great physical condition. He is to be a top-notch agent by next month. Understood?"

"Loud and clear. Forrest, out."

* * *

><p><em><strong>19 August 2003<strong>_

_**2300 Hours**_

_**Unnamed Business Complex Basement Parking Lot**_

_**Fourth Ward, Charlotte, North Carolina**_

_ Bryce skillfully followed his mark towards the basement parking lot. Knowledgeable of the cameras' blind spots, he prowled along the countless shadows that were present due to the dim lighting. _

_ His mark clumsily dropped his key, breaking stride to pick it up. Bryce saw this as his chance as he swiftly crept through the dark and aimed his Heckler & Koch USP semi-automatic pistol at the mark's head. His gun fired, followed by the mark's body collapsing to the ground. A rapidly growing black puddle began to spread from underneath the mark's head._

**23 August 2003**

**1300 Hours**

**Grand Hyatt Hotel**

**Washington D.C.**

Bryce suddenly got up, out of breath and in cold sweat. The same nightmare had been plaguing him for days now. He ran his fingers through his hair as he contemplated on what he had done. _It's called being a spy, Bryce. This is all for your country. For your friends. For your only friend._

Glancing at the alarm clock on the side table, he muttered under his breath. "Shit." He was late for his meeting with Graham for his first assignment as a sanctioned operative. After quickly checking on himself to make sure he was presentable, Bryce tucked his Heckler & Koch USP inside his waistband before rushing out of his hotel room.

* * *

><p><strong>1345 Hours<strong>

**CIA Building**

**Washington D.C.**

"He's late." Graham sternly stated. He pressed play to listen to Larkin's message for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"Graham, I know I'm running late. I'll be there as soon as traffic let's up." Click.

The phone started ringing as the message ended. He replied swiftly with a "Graham."

"Sir, Agent Larkin is here. Shall I sen-" His assistant began before becoming frightened by Graham's harsh interruption.

"Send him in." He placed the phone back onto the receiver, and he watched as Larkin entered, his face slightly flushed while his hair and attire were in slight disarray.

"Sir, I- " Bryce started to explain after he took a seat in front of Graham; he disliked the seat. He was all too vulnerable to becoming the target to the man's intimidating glare.

Raising his hand slightly to silence the agent in front of him, he took a deep breath to prevent himself from erupting over how unprofessional Bryce Larkin was. _My goodness._ "Save it." Graham shuffled some papers aside to keep himself distracted. "I'm assigning you a partner."

Bryce retained his calm as he raised an eyebrow. _A partner?_ "Do I really need to have a partner?"

"In order to be completely efficient in carrying out operations, you must have a partner. You will keep each other in check." Graham continued; all the while, he was somewhat glowering at Larkin. "The agent I am assigning as your partner is, without a doubt, the _best_ the CIA has to offer. Gets the job done, no matter what. I hope you learn something from this partnership, Larkin."

As if on cue, the doors were pulled open. Bryce had to turn around in his seat so as to see who walked in. Mouth slightly opened, he watched as an exceptionally striking blonde took the seat opposite of him_. Wow._

"Agent Larkin, this is Agent Walker. Your partner."

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><p>Sarah just got partnered up with Bryce Larkin? Yes, of course! Chuck turning ninja? Yep. Next one is coming soon! Please tell me what you expect so I get some ideas!<p> 


	4. Chuck Versus The Download

Ah, hectic week. Just started my senior year so I might get busy from time to time, but I'll try to update once a week. I had, in the words of my favorite captain, an AWESOME birthday on wednesday, which coincided with the first day of school but fun nevertheless. I hope you all had a great week and thanks for reading.

Note: I do not own Chuck, but I do own the new Entertainment Weekly that came out with a small article about Chuck.

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><p><em><strong>Chuck Versus The Download<strong>_

**5 September 2003**

**0800 Hours**

**CIA Training Complex**

**CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia**

"Bartowski!" Watching the recruit's impressive footwork compared to Chuck's idle form was beginning to irritate Forrest. She made her way towards him and growled. "You are NOT a tree. What in the hell are you doing?"

It was even more infuriatingwhen his response was a shrug and an indistinct smile that her trained eyes recognized. After growling once more, she blew her whistle and shouted, "Begin!"

His opponent circled around him; his face was held serious, but his eyes were filled with self-assurance that he was going to win the match. Feigning a left jab, his opponent switched his position to ready himself for the left roundhouse kick he was going to deliver against Chuck's right side.

_Not going to happen, buddy. _Chuck moved to his left as the kick was sent his way and firmly seized his opponent's left ankle, pulling it towards him. In addition to the force he applied to pull his opponent close, Chuck rushed forward with his right elbow up, causing his opponent to fall back upon impact.

Forrest checked for certain that the recruit was incapacitated before she blew the whistle. "23.8 seconds. Getting slow, Bartowski?" She tossed him a towel after she recorded the time. It was impressive to her actually; though she would never admit it. Bartowski had been sparring nonstop for the past two hours. _His endurance has greatly increased._

"Just got a little tired." Chuck yawned, not from drowsiness, but as his body's way of obtaining more oxygen. _Learned that from something I read_, he thought. He looked at the unconscious recruit he had sparred with a moment ago. _He kinda looks like Bryce._ Shaking his head to rid himself of thoughts of his so-called friend, Chuck excused himself to get ready for his next course. _The glamorous life of a soon-to-be spy_, he chuckled to himself.

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><p><strong>17 September 2003<strong>

**1200 Hours**

**CIA/NSA Facility**

**Outskirts of Washington D.C.**

"So, what are we doing here?" Chuck asked, surveying the area without physically turning his head blatantly around like he would have before he received the proper training on how to remain covert. He sat in the passenger's seat as Agent Forrest halted the car to show her credentials to the security. _Note: Lots and lots of security around here. Must be important. _Chuck also took notice to the amount of security cameras that were well-hidden. _No blind spots._ The CIA/NSA Facility appeared to be like any other business complex in the area. _Minus the stationed CIA and NSA agents around the area. At least they're inconspicuous about it._

"This is the one last major 'test' you will be receiving amongst the small ones I have given you at Langley." Agent Forrest scanned the parking lot for any space. _Why is it always so packed?_ Frowning, she parked the car in front the facility's entrance. _To hell with it._

"Ma'am, you canno-" One of the agents posted at the front started to say before Forrest promptly pulled the trigger of her tranq gun; she returned it back to its place in the inside of her pants' waistband. The agent immediately crumpled to the ground.

Chuck watched as Agent Forrest grunted as she made her way inside; he followed her after he passingly apologized to the other agent posted at the door for his mentor's lack of restraint with tranquilizing people who got in her way. "Necessary?"

"Absolutely." Forrest strode through the lobby, passing by the agent disguised as a receptionist. Stepping inside the elevator, she hit the button for the fifth floor. _I hate elevators, _she growled in her head.

Chuck observed as her posture became even more upright than before as she stood in one of the corners of the elevator. Her fists were clenched and her breathing was uneven despite her barely evident attempts to regulate it. _Is she hyperventilating?_ "Are.. are you okay?"

Forrest rigidly nodded as she began despising how well she had taught Bartowski that now he was able to detect a minimal irregularity in her behavior.

_Fear of elevators? I guess even tough spies have weaknesses. _He smiled politely at Agent Forrest. "No worries. We're almost there." He then began to hum quietly in hopes of dispelling his superior's anxiety.

Chuck almost laughed when he saw the relief overcome Forrest's face when they arrived at their floor. He bit his lower lip to prevent himself from doing so. _That was interesting._

She growled in her head when she heard Bartowski try to control himself; walking up to the key pad beside the only door at the end of the hallway, she typed in the passcode, which activated the door to slide open. "Let's go."

Chuck followed Agent Forrest inside the all-white room that was covered in what looked like white panels on the ceiling, walls, and floor. He noticed Graham standing with his always stiff, erect posture along with three other agents beside him on his right. To Graham's left, he saw a platform with a computer built in.

Graham tapped a button on the platform's computer, triggering the door Bartowski and Forrest used to close securely. "I want this done as soon as possible. Everyone except Bartowski, protective glasses on."

After Graham entered the password, the room turned pitch black prior to a flood of thousands of alternating pictures and videos with some brief pauses and static began to display on the white panels that covered the entire room. Chuck's eyes slightly crossed while his head bobbed up and down to some extent as looked at the many screens; his body stiffened as his subconscious absorbed all the information.

* * *

><p>Less than ten minutes had passed when Chuck started breathing deeply and clutched Agent Forrest for support. He blinked his eyes a few more times before he realized that he was leaning most of his weight on Forrest. "Oh. Sorry."<p>

Forrest nodded and let go of Bartowski when he was stable on his own two feet. She turned to Graham to find a rare smile on his face. Turning back to Chuck, her eyes widened when she saw what she knew to be a flash. The others paid it no mind as a result to how subtle it had become from all the practice; only she noticed it from the slight clenching of his jaw and mild squinting of his eyes accompanied by a hardly perceptible flaring of his nostrils.

Knowing that his mentor noticed his flash, he made a small gesture towards the three other agents beside Graham. Forrest reacted by whipping out her tranq gun and firing three consecutive shots. The agents all fell to the ground in response to the strong sedative quickly working through their systems.

_What in the world?_ Graham looked from the collapsed agents who were his security detail to Agent Forrest smirking proudly at her work to Chuck commenting about her sharp shooting. "Would you care to explain?"

"Ah, right. Those.. er, three were… Well, their records said they were dead. I knew something was wrong so.." He nodded towards Forrest, who started checking anything suspicious on the unconscious' person.

"Did you flash?" Graham kept his eyes on Bartowski, pondering why he did not notice anything signaling a flash.

"He did, sir." Forrest responded for Chuck while she moved on to inspect the next body. "Per your request, I made sure Bartowski's flash was nearly impercepti…. Bomb! We need to go. Now."

_Oh, no. _Chuck's eyes focused on the bomb strapped to one of the unconscious' chest that laid bare from Forrest's search. The amount of time given was decreasing. 6_0, 59, 58, 57…. _He chased Graham and Forrest out of the room; looking around, he spotted the red latch with 'fire alarm' etched in white on top. Chuck pulled the handle, initiating a loud siren to play throughout the facility and the sprinklers to go off.

He began to run down the first flight of stairs when he felt the place rumble similar to what a large earthquake would feel like. Holding onto the railings as he made his way down, he couldn't help but laugh when he heard Forrest threatening him from below to hurry up or she'll kill him herself if the bomb hadn't already. _Aw, she's worried._

Making his way out of the facility, Graham took his phone out to commence making several calls: first one was to his superior, the Director of the CIA; second was to Assistant Director Beckman of the NSA; the third was to his wife for he knew he had a lot of paperwork ahead of him and he would not return home that night. _Bartowski is now the only Intersect. The Human Intersect._

"Bartowski, here." Agent Forrest tossed him a towel to dry off with once he had emerged from the facility. "Good work. Setting off the fire alarm. You saved the agents in floors above." She stood there for an awkward second before Bartowski asked her a question.

"I was wondering. Can I go back to LA for a while? Training is over right?" He looked at Forrest, hoping she'd allow it. "I mean, at least for a day? It's my birthday tomorrow and my sister will kill me if I'm not there to celebrate it." _Please, please say okay._

Graham walked over to Bartowski and Forrest; he joined in time to hear the simple request. "You can go back to Los Angeles for a day." He noticed the wide smile on Bartowski's face. _Quite easy to please._ "Forrest will have to join you though. Perhaps along with a team for protection detail and back up. I can't have the only Intersect being vulnerable." He looked as Chuck agreed to the terms while Forrest gave a curt nod.

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><p><strong>September 18, 2003<strong>

**9:00 AM**

**Casa de Bartowski**

**Echo Park, Los Angeles, California**

Ellie sighed, her thoughts were on her little brother more than usual that morning. It was all because it was his birthday and he was not there to celebrate it. He did not even give her a way to contact him. She made herself comfortable on the couch seeing as that she found nothing better to do than to read a book.

"Oh. Heya, Ellie." A voice came from the hallway followed by the fridge's door being opened. "Whoa, you made chocolate cupcakes! Nice."

Ellie immediately got up from the couch and made headway towards the kitchen. "Morgan!" She watched in disgust as he stuffed his mouth with an entire cupcake while some crumbs fell into his beard. He was wearing his Buymore green shirt with his messenger bag slung on.

"Looking great as always, El." Morgan complimented through a mouthful. Glancing around, he asked. "Where's Awesome?"

"He'll be coming home soon. Why?" She had taken away the container filled with cupcakes, but Morgan had managed to snatch one more away. Ellie stood in front of the fridge to prevent more food from being eaten by the short bearded man.

Finishing the cupcake he had swiped, Morgan shrugged. "I wanted to thank him for taking a look at this strang-"

Ellie interrupted with a wave of her hand. She shuddered at the thought. "On second thought, I don't want to know."

They both turned their heads toward the door when they heard someone knock. Frowning since she was going to leave fridge vulnerable to a Morgan attack, she nonetheless went to answer whoever knocked.

Ellie gasped before she squealed in happiness as she threw her arms around her brother. "Chuck!" That happiness instantly turned into anger, eliciting her to cross her arms and use her signature glare that has always made her brother confess. "Where have you been? Why haven't you called?"

Chuck gave her the trademark Bartowski smile. "Um, I got a job." _Well, I'm being honest. _

Caught off-guard, it took a second for Ellie to react. "You got a job?" She returned to him her own version of the Bartowski smile. "What do you do?"

"He works as an intermediary in place of our boss during business negotiations." Ellie looked over her little brother's shoulder to find a blonde woman with a serious face answer her question. "Mr. Bartowski supervises the technology department as well. We work for LEOS Inc."

"It's, uh, security company." Chuck included, moving aside so Forrest wouldn't have to talk over his shoulder. "This is-"

"Alexandra Forrest. I go by Forrest." The agent gave her best smile to the older Bartowski while she held out her hand.

"I'm Ellie." She smiled back, taking Forrest's hand and giving it a shake. "So what do you do, Forrest?"

"I manage the finances and –"

"Chuck! Old buddy, old pal!" Morgan greeted, his arms outstretched with one hand holding another cupcake. Chuck noticed the smudge of chocolate icing on the corner of his best friend's mouth.

"Ah. Hey there, Morgan." He gasped as his lifelong friend squeezed him tightly. "Not so tight, buddy." He felt something brush against the back of his shirt. "Morgan?"

Morgan released Chuck from his tight squeeze before he took notice of the icing that was missing from his cupcake. He went to look behind Chuck and found the icing smeared on his hetero-life mate's back. "Oh, geez. Sorry, Chuck. I got some icing on your shirt."

"I'm going to change then." Chuck shook his head and smiled as he headed to the guest room. "It wouldn't be home without you, Morgan."

"Why, thank you." Morgan smiled as a sense of pride overcame him.

Ellie frowned at the exchange between her brother and his best friend. _This is why he doesn't leave. _Remembering that she was discussing Chuck's new career, she turned back to Forrest whose attention was diverted by Morgan's eating habits. "Morgan, go check on Chuck."

Saluting, Morgan nodded. "Gotcha!" He scampered off to go after his friend into his room, where the Morgan Door, the window in Chuck's room, was coincidentally located; his way in and out of Casa de Bartowski. "Chuck, Ellie wanted me to check on… Whoa, dude!" He took some time to actually study his friend. _The guy has been working OUT!_ Chuck had been lanky before, but now he filled his lean form better; his muscles were much more defined than when he had last seen his friend. "Been hitting the gym?" He poked at Chuck's stomach carefully as if his friend's abs would bite him.

"Uh, yeah. Kinda." Chuck slapped Morgan's hand away before he pulled a shirt on as he tried to think of something to prevent the uncomfortable silence from growing longer. "Part of the job."

"Nice, nice." The shorter man stroked his beard, meditating about getting his friend to let him in on the work out secret. _Chuck must get all the ladies now…_ "So are you dating that girl you brought with you?"

Chuck's eyes grew wide, "Wh-what in the - No, Morgan. She's like a partner."

"Oh, so like a lover?" His friend nodded in understanding. "Wouldn't blame you. She's hot!"

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head as Morgan emphasized the last word. "I'm serious. She's a coworker, nothing more." He didn't see Forrest that way at all. She was his mentor and friend. _Like a blonde version of Ellie. Except angrier, loves Lean Pockets, and has a tendency to shoot things in her way. _Chuck nodded inwardly, knowing his observation was spot-on.

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><p>Thanks for reading! As always, please review and tell me your thoughts. I need ideas please!<p> 


	5. Chuck Versus The Red Test

Thanks for keeping up with this story so far! Er, the first bit is of Sarah and Bryce and I know a number of you lot don't approve, so it's fine if you skip it - I was just following the time line for Chuck a bit. Enjoy!

Note: I do not own Chuck and what not.

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><p><em><strong>Chuck Versus The Red Test<strong>_

**15 May 2005**

**1400 Hours**

**Bogota, Columbia**

Sarah Walker was a top agent of the CIA, a professional. What she didn't understand was how she turned into the opposite as she compromised herself with her partner, Bryce Larkin. She didn't know when exactly their relationship turned to more than being professional, but there she was pressed against the wall by her partner in a deep make out session, greatly utilizing their cover as a loving young couple 'The Andersons.'

Breathing heavily, Bryce pulled away from her when he noticed the coast was clear. He smirked while he handed her the briefcase they had been after."Shall we?"

Sarah smiled momentarily before she heard the shouts of the Columbian henchmen whom they were trying to flee from. "Let's." They both ran for it, knowing their pursuers were right on their tail. After several abrupt turns, they hid in an empty alleyway, listening for any signs of the henchmen.

"You have something that isn't yours." A low, heavy Columbian accented voice stated from behind them. Sarah spun around to discover Bryce being held with a gun pointed at his head by one of the henchmen. "Give me the briefcase and your partner doesn't die."

"Okay, okay. It's yours." She held her hands up in surrender and began to extend the briefcase to him. Signaling Bryce through a nod, Sarah dropped the briefcase to remove her gun from its hiding place while Bryce wrenched free from the henchman's loosened grasp. She squeezed the trigger after accurately aiming it with ease; the bullet found its mark on the henchman's head. _Second kill… It's getting easier. _Sarah sighed in her head.

Bryce smiled once again when he finished planting a long kiss on his girlfriend's soft lips. "Thanks for the save, partner."

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><p><strong>May 19, 2005<strong>

**2:43 AM**

**Unspecified Movie Theater**

**Los Angeles, California**

"That was MIND-BLOWING!" Dressed as Chewbacca, Morgan exclaimed as he walked out of the movie theater beside his best friend, who in turn was dressed as Han Solo. "Man! Chewie got some screen time, too! Best. Night. Ever!"

Chuck patted him on the back, laughing knowingly that Morgan will pass out immediately once they were on the road as he drove his currently very hairy friend back home. Feeling the guilt increase as a result from being away because of the numerous amount of missions that all required the Human Intersect's attention, Chuck was more than willing to take Morgan out on this greatly anticipated night of the premiere of Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith. "I know right! And Obi-Wan and Anakin's fight scene; Man!" He added as his friend read his mind, causing them to suddenly pose before they started to reenact the fight scene themselves; Chuck took the place of Obi-Wan while Morgan took the role of Anakin/Darth Vader.

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><p>0<strong>328 Hours<strong>

**Casa de Bartowski**

**Echo Park, Los Angeles, California**

Chuck went into his room through the Morgan Door so he wouldn't wake up his sister or Captain Awesome. Yawning, he shuffled his way to his bed; not bothering to change from his Han Solo attire, he all too quickly fell asleep once his body made contact with the bed.

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><p>"Bartowski! Move your ass out of bed!" Agent Forrest hissed whilst she got a hold of Chuck's ankles and pulled him off the bed. <em>He sleeps like rock. <em>She scowled at her partner's deeply asleep form where he landed on the floor; heaving him up into a sitting position against the bed, she slapped him. Hard. _Wake the hell up!_

Chuck cried out, "Agh! Ow!" Rubbing his stinging cheek, he looked at Forrest in agony. "Was that really necessary? After two years of working together?"

"With the way you were sleeping." A hardly evident smirk showed on her face. After helping Bartowski up, she raised an eyebrow at his outfit. He took it in that he was still wearing his Han Solo costume and was about to explain, but Forrest prevented him. "We need to go. New mission. Hopefully with more gunfire." The last statement was more to herself than to Bartowski. She was getting more and more disappointed with every mission that didn't allow her to go trigger-happy. _Why doesn't Bartowski see the joy of guns?_ "Change, Star Fights boy. It's already noon."

"Star Wars. It's called Star Wars. Geez, Forrest. Get it right." He said in a mock hurt tone. Chuck chuckled inwardly when he heard a "whatever" from her as she left through the Morgan Door.

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><p>Now out of his costume, Chuck made for Forrest's apartment that was situated across the courtyard from the apartment he shared with Awesome and Ellie. Her apartment was where they had been receiving their assignments, allowing Chuck to remain close to his family and friends while performing the responsibilities of the Human Intersect. The door opened before he had even raised his hand to knock; after being conducted in, he took his spot standing next to Forrest, who waited for the video conference to begin.<p>

One of the two idle computer screens switched to the live video feed of Graham looking intently at them despite being across the country. _The wonders of technology_, Chuck thought.

"Agent Forrest, Bartowski." Graham gave his own version of acknowledgement then went on with the meeting. Glancing at the file in front of him before returning his attention to the two, his following statement elicited a grumble from Forrest. "This 'assignment' is more directed at Bartowski."

"It has occurred to me that you have more than proven yourself during past missions that you are more than simply the Human Intersect. I believe you will do more good out in the field as an agent than for us to point and allow you to flash then let other agents do the work."

Chuck held his normal face while his mind contemplated on what this meant for him. _Actual field work. I'll be undercover. Not as a waiter but with actual aliases. _His excitement grew as he kept on thinking about it. _No more waiting in the sidelines. _

"The training you received at Langley will not go to waste." His plan for Bartowski was at last going into play; Graham had intended for the Human Intersect to be out in the field ASAP, but he had to wait for approval from his superior and the other departments of the government. Despite the two years it had taken to convince the higher-ups that the pros outweighed the cons, he was granted authorization all the same. "There is one last test for you to take before you will be able to be referred to as an official CIA operative. Are you willing to become an agent?"

"Yes, sir. It's what I've wanted from the start." Chuck smiled along with his reply, more than ready to take on whatever Graham had for him.

Graham gave a satisfied nod. "The file for your test has been sent. Contact me when you have completed the task." The last statement was followed by the computer screen turning black to mark the end of the video conference.

Chuck watched as Forrest went to her seldom used kitchen to warm up a Lean Pocket. It was all he had seen her eat most of the time unless they went out for a mission. "So what do you think the last test is?"

"The Red test," Forrest replied as she retrieved her burnt Lean Pocket from the microwave. She was not keen at all on having Bartowski take the test since she knew fully well of the after-effects it had on agents new to the job. "You'll have to kill someone. Someone the agency picked out."

"K-kill?" Gulping nervously, Chuck didn't know what to think of it. _I want to be an agent, but... to kill someone?_ _I can't take a life._

Forrest answered in the form of a small grunt before taking another bite of her meal. _No way can Bartowski do this. Kid's still new to all this._

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><p><strong>May 20, 2005<strong>

**8:48 PM**

**Casa de Bartowski**

**Echo Park, Los Angeles, California**

Ellie furrowed her eyebrows together as she watched her brother play video games unenthusiastically, which was very out of character for him. She took a seat beside him on the couch, asking gently. "Chuck? Is something wrong?"

Chuck broke out of his thoughts once he heard his sister question. "Yeah. Why?" He smiled, hoping he was giving the 'I'm fine' smile and not the 'Don't freak out' smile.

Taking a moment to study her brother, she shook her head. "No reason. Just concerned about my baby brother." She allowed him to get back to his game as she got up to head to the room she shared with her boyfriend. _I wonder what's wrong…_

She contemplated about how much Chuck had changed while he was off searching for a purpose after getting kicked out of Stanford. _That Bryce Larkin is a jerk, _Ellie thought with contempt. _I can't believe his nerve to-_ Pausing to take a calming breath, she envisioned herself telling Devon to beat the crap out of Bryce. Ellie sighed. _A girl can dream._

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><p><strong>22 May 2005<strong>

**2000 Hours**

**Unnamed Location**

**Southern California, USA**

Identifying his mark, Chuck vigilantly kept an eye on his position. The man matched the file he was given of a Kyle Turner; medium, athletic build with dusty brown hair and eyes that warily took in his surroundings.

For some reason, Turner began to pick up his pace. _Someone or something must have signaled him about my presence._ Chuck frowned as he went to blend in with the crowd, allowing to let Turner believe that he had lost his pursuer. His target slipped into an alley then began to run; Chuck, thankful for his long legs and increased endurance, effortlessly caught up to him in a matter of seconds.

"Stop!" His shout echoed throughout the abandoned warehouse that they had ended up in. His mark had tripped while he was backing away from Chuck and he now was flat on his back, begging for his life. Raising his gun, Chuck took aim at Turner's head.

_I-I can't._ Chuck slightly lowered his gun, no longer aiming it at his target. "You're under arrest." He clenched his jaw; after the chase he had made and the mental preparation, he still couldn't kill. _So much for being an agent._ He reasoned with himself that the man in front of him was his target for a reason; he sold government secrets to the bad guys. _What if he has a family?_ His imagination was going into overtime as he thought of possible backgrounds for his mark. _Stop it, Chuck. Stop it. _

Chuck, too occupied with arguing with himself inwardly, failed to notice his mark reach for his own weapon.

The shot's bang still rang in Chuck's ears; breathing heavily from the adrenaline, he turned to look around to find Forrest with a gun other than a tranq in her hands. Before making her escape, she nodded his way and uttered "We can talk later. Contact Graham. Tell him you finished the test."

Chuck muttered a reply, "Right." He retrieved the phone that was to be specifically used for contacting Graham. _You just killed a man. Act like you just killed a man. _Hitting the call button, it didn't take long for Graham to answer. "It's Bartowski. Target eliminated."

Graham smiled on his end, "Good. Head back home for now. I'll have Agent Forrest brief you on your first mission tomorrow. Do you have an alias in mind that you will be listed under as?"

"Carmichael. Charles Carmichael." Chuck replied, surprised by the indifference of his voice. He had used the name before, but it was Morgan who had given it to him; his friend wasn't bearded at the time and he had planned for them to get inside a club using fake IDs back when they were eighteen.

* * *

><p><em><strong>1998<strong>_

_**7:48 PM**_

_**Unnamed Club**_

_**Los Angeles, California**_

_"Teen wolf? Really, Morgan?" He towered over his friend from the sudden growth spurt he had undergone during the previous summer. He disliked his now wiry frame and was unused to his long legs that more often than not now made him trip or something else that cemented the adjective of klutz that he was labeled at school. _

_ "I'm Scott Howard; I don't know who this Morgan is, but I'm sure he's quite the lady's man and -" Morgan dropped his statement as the line moved forward, placing them in the front of a very stout man wearing the customary black bouncer shirt. They both handed their IDs to the man who instantaneously pulled out a pair of scissors from his back pocket to cut up the fake plastic cards._

_ "Nice try, teen wolf." The bouncer grunted, amused at the two awkward teenagers he faced. "And what was your name? Charles Caramel? Hah. Next."_

_ "Charles Carmichael." He tried to correct the bouncer, but he and his friend had already been pushed aside by the impatient patrons behind them. "Come on. We always have Duck Hunt."_

* * *

><p>I dunno when I'll update again since I've been getting a bit of a writer's block for this story for a while now and <em>sigh.<em> I know Sarah and Chuck will meet soon. Sorry this one was so short! Please review and tell me your thoughts! I really do take them into account.


	6. Chuck Versus The First Mission

Sorry it took so long, but... New chapter! Senior year, writer's block, and my irritation towards Morgan from the latest Chuck episode has prevented me from continuing this ff. Please do critique and give me ideas if you want this to continue.

Disclaimer: Don't own Chuck and what not.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chuck Versus The First Mission<strong>_

**23 May 2005**

**0800 Hours**

**Casa de Bartowski**

**Echo Park, Los Angeles, California**

Chuck hadn't gotten around to asking Forrest why she had helped him with his Red test the other night; deciding it was time to talk, he got ready to leave for her apartment when she had entered through the Morgan Door.

"Bartowski," She stood in front of his bed and gestured for him to sit. "You weren't ready to kill." Forrest declared frankly whilst crossing her arms as she analyzed her partner's facial expressions. "Being an agent doesn't mean you have to kill. Rarely comes to that, actually. Typically, we shoot to injure than to kill. When the time comes, you'll do it. Last night wasn't it."

Smiling gratefully for what Forrest had done for him, he looked up at her from his seat. "Thanks, Forrest. I know you've got my back."

She responded with a "Yeah, well, whatever. Briefing in five."

After disappearing through the same way she entered his room, Chuck went to get ready. He had exited his room only to bump into his sister on her way to her shift at Westside Medical, where she and Awesome both worked as doctors.

"Oh, sorry, Chuck." Ellie pardoned herself after pecking her brother on the cheek. "Emergency at the hospital. Have a good day! Love you, bye!" She hastily said before dashing out the door like Forrest at sounds of her Lean Pocket burning.

"Oh, okay." Chuck reacted to his older sibling's goodbye. "Love you, too?" He chuckled and went on to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face before he left the apartment for Forrest's.

Walking into Forrest's apartment, he was met with a question. "Carmichael? That's your alias, Bartowski? Charles Carmichael?"

Chuck heard the skepticism in her voice and proceeded to defend his choice. "What? It's alliteration. Helps people remember."

Her response was a roll of her eyes as she looked through the file Graham had sent for Chuck. Forrest raised her eyebrow when she found that the mission was an operation that made them join up with the MI6. _Hmm…_

Tilting his head, he asked. "What's up?" He noticed something had piqued Forrest's interest as she read about his first mission.

"Working with MI6 on this one. Hopefully you'll be joined up with one who isn't a smug bastard. Make sure you don't make your flashes obvious." She recalled back to one MI6 agent she had let her guard down around; growling, she ripped a chunk out of her Lean Pocket.

Unconsciously touching his head when Forrest mentioned the Intersect, he thought of the information he uncovered during one of the Intersect missions he had a couple months ago. _The CIA is building a new Intersect… Still not operational; it will probably be done in a year or two. Does that mean I'll be obsolete? Will they push me aside after they build it? _

Forrest mentally debated whether she should ask Graham to join Bartowski on this assignment to watch over him. _Can't. He's an agent now._ "Watch your back on this one. You'll be after an arms dealer." Thinking of the potential firefights that could happen on Bartowski's mission, she grumbled in envy. _Graham better give me something that involves guns._

* * *

><p><strong>1900 Hours<strong>

**Millennium Biltmore Hotel**

**Los Angeles, California**

Whistling in his mind, Chuck noted how grand the hotel foyer was as he walked in. _MI6 sure takes care of their agents_. He succinctly stopped in the middle of the lobby to regard the security cameras from his peripherals before resuming towards the front desk.

"Hello, sir. How may I help you?" The manager smiled politely at him, but it was clear that he did not wish to be there at all.

"Can you tell me where the bar is?"

His query was swiftly met with a "Down the east wing and make a left."

Following the man's instructions after short-lived confusion about which wing was east, Chuck found himself in the hotel's bar, scanning the patrons' faces to trigger a flash.

_A slice of cake_

_Cole Barker_

_Various mission reports of MI6/CIA joint cases_

_A highlighted file of a joint operation incident resulting in suspension of involved agents_

_A slice of cake_

Slightly clenching his jaw, he took a seat at the bar next to the MI6 agent prior to asking the bartender for water. He raised his eyebrow as he processed the intelligence given to him by the supercomputer in his head.

Chuck drank the tall glass of water given to him, tasting a hint of lemon from the slice tastefully placed in it. _Cole Barker. _He wondered about the MI6/CIA case that the agent was part of; it had stated that he involved himself with a CIA agent, bringing about the compromise of their cover when they had gotten into a dispute. They completed the mission as well as almost causing an international incident; the resulting consequence was their temporary suspension from their respective agencies.

"Business or pleasure?" An English accented voice regarded the casual suit Chuck donned. The owner took a sip of his Scotch on the rocks, awaiting a reply for his comment.

Remembering the code he was given in the mission's file, Chuck replied tersely, "It's always business. I haven't the time for pleasure." He watched the man finish the rest of his alcohol before requesting another one.

"Barker. Cole Barker." The MI6 agent downed his drink easily; scrutinizing Chuck at a glance, he arched a brow. _It seems that the CIA is willing to recruit anyone these days. _The man seated beside him held no hidden weapons from what he could discern and he was puzzled as to why he wore sneakers along with his suit. "And you are?"

"Charles Carmichael. Shall we go talk business somewhere less public?"

Cole assented, standing up to lead the way to the room the MI6 had kindly obtained for him. _At least they're on their way to forgiving me for the fiasco in Sicily._

* * *

><p>"Currently, we lack essential data for the mission. The man we are after is unbelievably private. Never leaves his home, let's others do the dirty work for him."<p>

"How are we supposed to catch this guy then?" Chuck racked his brain to solve the problem of how to apprehend an arms dealer with an introverted predisposition.

Cole shook his head and answered the CIA agent's query. "The man loves throwing lavish parties as a way to meet clients. He's throwing one tonight at nine so we won't have any trouble getting in. I've already gotten us into the guest list. The real problem is that we don't know what he looks like." Noticing the confused expression on his colleague's face, he explained, "The man has a tendency to change his appearance, disguising himself as one of the waiters or even a client while he has someone acting on his behalf. It's a bit of a game for him, I suppose. Our plan is to simply mingle and discover his identity either prior to the end of the party or before we're discovered."

"Right." Chuck responded skeptically; he had been involved in the sidelines of more missions than he could count with both his hands to know that nothing ever goes as planned. "So it's a formal party, right?"

* * *

><p><strong>2100 Hours<strong>

**Avakian Estate**

**Playa del Rey, Los Angeles, California**

Stepping out of the stretch limousine, Chuck found himself staring at an opulent estate that undoubtedly proved that business was doing quite well for the arms dealer. Cole stood beside him, coolly fixing his cufflinks. A bouncer stood beside the entrance along with several security guards as guests were either graciously accepted in or roughly denied.

"Richard Danvers, and this my brother, Evan."

The usher quickly scanned the list he held, searching for their names. With a nod, he signaled the guards to step aside to allow them entrance. "I hope you enjoy the party."

Chuck trailed after his 'brother' inside, his training kicking in as he surveyed the area for cameras and other security measures. _Geez… _He identified a number of security cameras, implying that there were only a limited amount of blind spots at specific times, along with guards positioned around the entryways to monitor the guests.

Cole whisked two flutes of red wine from a passing waiter. Tasting it, he made an approving face. "1990 Chateau Latour Pauillac. The man knows his wine."

"We need to mingle." Chuck spoke frankly as he swished his wine around in the glass, though he did not take a sip of it. He preferred to stay sober as it was his first official mission. _Stay alert, Chuck, _he reminded himself inwardly.

"Course. Split up. I'll take the east and west wing while you take the courtyard and sitting room. 'Gatsby' is the safe word. Remember that." The MI6 agent said before he made his way to the east.

Chuck continued forward towards the heart of the party in the living room, the hum of a myriad of conversations occurring all at once grew louder with each step he took. Once again, he scanned the room. Men in prim suits and elegantly dressed women congregated into groups participating in idle small talk as Chuck walked through. He found the arms dealer's double near the fireplace, speaking to several women who were brazenly throwing themselves at him.

Eventually, he found himself in the courtyard which was illumed by the small little hanging lights attached to the patio cover. Chuck unnoticeably winced as he felt a flash initiate.

_A bouquet of carnations_

_Oshin Avakian_

_Withdrawn allegations on illegal exchanges due to insufficient evidence_

_Accused of numerous murder charges; not once convicted_

_A bouquet of carnations_

_Major baddie. _Rubbing his temple with his free hand, he turned away slightly, watching the arms dealer disguised as a client socialize with the guests. He began to hunt for Cole, striding leisurely to retain his cover as a part of the many guests who were enjoying themselves.

* * *

><p>"Damn it." Cole gripped the gunshot wound on his side he had received from one of the clients who recognized him; he swiftly incapacitated the portly man, handling him none too gently as he hid the client inside a closet he inadvertently came across. After he fixed his suit jacket to cover the injury, Cole hurriedly joined the party to seek out his 'brother.'<p>

"Ah, Mr. Danvers."

It took half a second for Cole to realize that he was being referred to before he spun around to acknowledge the man who addressed him. He found himself face-to-face with the arms dealer's stand-in; for the sake of maintaining his cover, he smiled civilly, "Mr. Avakian. I must say, you throw an excellent party."

The arms dealer's double laughed, showing unnaturally white teeth, before speaking once more in his Armenian accent. "This is nothing more than a small gathering compared to the parties I throw in my summer villa in Bora Bora."

"Richard, there you are!" Chuck greeted, offering Cole the untouched wineglass he had been given earlier. "It seems you've found our host for this evening. Hello, I'm Evan. Richard's brother."

_Clever._ Cole listened as Chuck continued to speak in what he would say was a decent English accent to the false Mr. Avakian. Under no circumstances though would he acknowledge how comparable the accent was to his own; it was as if Chuck was a native Englishman himself.

"Thank you. We'll keep in touch for any business negotiations. We'll have to take account of our inventory and finances prior to any of that though, but I'm sure you'll be hearing from us."

The fake agreed, his smile was plastered on his face as he moved on to find another guest to accost. Chuck turned his attention to the MI6 agent, "I found him."

"Did you? How?" Cole brusquely said, savoring the aftertaste of the wonderfully aged red wine.

"I just did."

"All right. I won't ask how you did then, but what should we do to get to him?"

The English man waited for a response when he discerned the concern in the CIA agent's slightly widened eyes when he found blood on his colleague's shirt spreading further that his suit jacket was now useless in covering the stain unless he buttoned it up, which he commenced to do.

Chuck began to ask if he needed help, but stopped himself. _He's a MI6 agent. He knows what he's doing. _"We need a timed distraction. We'll take him in as it's going on."

"What do you propose then? We need to disable the cameras and the guards."

"I'm familiar with the cameras. They're the TKX-50 models. They're equipped for remote access so it's possible for us to hack into them." Chuck explained, "We just need to locate someone with access."

Cole automatically surveyed the room. "I think I found our guy." He made a gesture towards one of the guests, a surly man who appeared to be the head of Avakian's security detail.

Groaning, Chuck shook his head and muttered to no one in particular, "What is up with all these huge guys? Do they all deal with steroids?"

"Most likely. An arms dealer typically has some ties with the drug cartel." The MI6 agent responded automatically as he worked his mind for any ideas to subdue the large man.

_Drugs and guns._ Chuck shrugged as he grabbed a water glass from a circulating waiter. He abruptly coughed as he spit the contents back into the glass. "Ugh. Vodka."

Cole took the drink from Chuck's possession and downed it in one gulp, "No use in wasting perfectly good liquor."

Shaking his head at the man's lack of consideration for his liver, he nodded towards the hulking giant of Avakian's security detail. "Distract him and I'll tranq. We have no other choice right now, and it's best if we get out of here as fast as possible." _And hopefully, it'll all be okay._

"All right. Let's do this." With his last statement, the MI6 agent started lumbering towards their target, progressing through the crowd as if he were lost.

"Watch it." The bulky man snarled at the stranger, determining him drunk by the way he proceeded to smile foolishly and slurred his apology.

"Oh, sor.." Cole made a face that suggested biliousness, but then noticeably swallowed it back down. "Ugh. I'm okay. Just felt, ugh, my dinner coming back up. Haha." He made another expression of queasiness and leaned against the security guard, imperceptibly backing him into an insufficiently minded corner. "Shouldn't have had that last shot."

_Down you go, big guy._ Administering ten doses worth of tranquilizer into the man's bloodstream via injection into the large protruding vein on his neck, Chuck watched as the giant began to slump forward, threatening to crush his English partner before he used all his strength to hold him back. _That went better than I thought. _He was starting to feel optimistic when he realized that he was supporting the head of Avakian's security detail in the midst of a party that was in full swing._ Crap._ It didn't help that the man was probably two hundred pounds of pure muscle. He turned his attention to Barker, expecting the experienced MI6 to have a plan only to find him applying pressure to his bullet wound_. Okay, I'm in the middle of a bad guy's party with Cole injured and I'm holding up a giant. Don't freak out._

* * *

><p>As always, please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts. Have a good daynight, everyone!


	7. Chuck Versus The Escape

Sorry it took so long, again. It's winter break though, so I'll try my best to work on this!

Note: I don't own Chuck because if I did, it would renew for another season. Or at least a movie.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chuck Versus The Escape<strong>_

**23 May 2005**

**2243 Hours**

**Avakian Estate**

**Playa del Rey, Los Angeles, California**

Cole watched as his American partner disarmed the goliath in the guise of Avakian's head of security – he clenched the bullet wound on his side, his head fuzzy from the ongoing blood-loss. _Damn it, _he mentally grumbled. "Grab his key card. It'll give us access into the security room."

"Right." Per Cole's instruction, Chuck unhooked the card from the lanyard around the neck of the insentient man positioned against the wall. _I need a plan. Think of a plan. _Placing the gun in the possession of the MI6 agent, he related his hastily constructed strategy with an authoritative tone that surprised even himself. "Here. Get to the real Avakian. He's the one wearing the tacky red bow tie. I'm going into the security room to hack into the cameras. Maybe create a distraction for us to get out while I'm at it. I'll meet you in 15." _Hopefully, all hell won't break loose._

The Englishman acceded to the proposal with a nod. "It's better than nothing."

* * *

><p><em>Oh, great. Just what I wanted. More guards. <em>Chuck held his hands up as a group of Avakian's security encircled him, their weapons drawn. "Whoa!" Imitating how Cole had approached Avakian's head of security earlier, he gave the guards an inebriated smile. "Haha, those are some nice toys you got there." Suddenly giving the impression of having recalled something, he asked blatantly, "Oh, uh, anyone mind showing me to the loo? I've really got to take a piss."

"This area is out-of-bounds. How did you get past the other guards?" A guard moved closer, somewhat lowering his gun as he unconsciously deemed the lanky man in front of him as a stray guest.

Chuck shrugged, "Just like this." A solid punch to the man's face followed his statement before he reverted back to his native accent, "It was easy." Before any of the incapacitated man's comrades could intervene, the CIA agent released a myriad of concise punches and kicks that rendered them in the same condition as the first guard whom addressed him. He regarded the door that the large troop of security had been posted at and progressed towards it, mentally thanking the training he received under Forrest.

_Finally!_ He inwardly cheered once he entered the security room, leaving be the inert forms of the guards in the hall outside. Inside, he found the walls on the opposite side of the room covered with monitors showing the ongoing revelry taking place within the estate through an assortment of viewpoints which the cameras easily captured; other than that, the room seemed to be strangely unmanned. _Why do I have a feeling that something's off?_ He frowned and subsequently ducked for cover as an immediate reaction from hearing the mishandling of a gun. The shot reverberated in the air as Chuck cautiously stood to view his attacker. There was a hole in one of the monitors, and the aim completely off with regards to Chuck's location beside the door.

A stout security guard shakily held up the gun, obviously unused to it in his control. "Stay back. I'm warning you." Beads of sweat trickled down the man's pale forehead, his voice cracking an octave higher when he spoke. "I - I'll shoot for sure this time!"

"You don't have to." Chuck stated calmly, hands raised once more as he moved forward. "I just want to disable the cameras. That's all." He observed as a number of emotions were evidently in turmoil as revealed on the corpulent man's features – hesitant trust prevailing over the rest.

"That's all?"

"Yeah, that and I want all the footage of tonight to be erased." He was close enough that the guard could perceive the plain sincerity in his honest mien; there was a long pause before the man nodded in assent. Chuck instantly moved to the monitors, his fingers nimbly inputting commands into the system to halt any further documentation of the night as well as removing any recorded evidence of his and Cole's presence at the party. With a final tap of a key, Chuck spun around, discovering that the guard still persisted on pointing the gun at him. One swift move altered their situation entirely as he held the weapon in his hand, ejecting the magazine out and kicking it away from them both afore he gave it back to the astounded security guard. "Here you go."

* * *

><p><em>Found you<em>. Cole mentally announced once he spotted the red bow tie, and he advanced towards the disguised Avakian, reducing the distance between them with each step he took. With a calculated bump, he caused the man adjacent to the arms dealer to splatter wine onto Avakian's suit, resulting in a growing claret stain on the man's dress shirt.

Suppressing his obvious irritation, Avakian pardoned himself from the conversation as he made way for the restroom, unwary of the MI6 agent trailing after him. A few steps before reaching the washroom, the drone of idle conversation was silenced by the screams that erupted from the west wing followed by the shouts of guests warning each other of an apparent fire.

The instant the arms dealer spun around to locate the source of the commotion, he was greeted with a hand chop to the side of his neck. Cole took advantage of Avakian's fleeting disorientation in the form of a right elbow strike to the jaw, successfully knocking out the arms dealer.

"Cole!" Chuck called out as he weaved through the mass of guests seeking to leave the premises – grabbing hold of the other side of Avakian, he aided the MI6 agent in heaving the unconscious arms dealer along with them as they joined the fleeing crowd. "We've got to get out of here."

"Obviously." Cole retorted, concentrating on whether any of Avakian's security noticed that the real dealer was with them. "How do you suppose we do that?"

Chuck brandished a set of keys from his pocket, "Our ride is waiting outside."

The MI6 agent raised a brow then nodded. _Well done, Carmichael._

* * *

><p><strong>2338 Hours<strong>

**Forrest's Apartment**

**Echo Park, Los Angeles, California**

Upon hearing the urgent pounding on her front door, Forrest growled as she discontentedly separated herself from her movie to open the door, "What?"

"Hiya, Forrest." Chuck greeted with a wave. "Mind if we come in?"

_We?_ Forrest's regular frown curdled into a scowl as she recognized the man accompanying her partner. Hissing through her teeth, she acknowledged the MI6 agent, "Barker." _Damn bastard. Must be the agent the MI6 sent to partner up with Bartowski._

Cole smiled, paying no heed to the daggers Alexandra Forrest gave off with her icy blue eyes. "Nice to see you again, Alex. Guess your Carmichael's partner?" _Beautiful as ever. I wonder how she's been._

"Impeccable observation," Forrest snapped before turning to Chuck – the ire towards the English man palpable in her voice. "Come in. You'll need to report to Graham about your mission." Stepping aside in order to permit the two agents into her abode, she stood skeptically as Bartowski dragged a restrained man along with him. "This is?"

"The arms dealer." A faint smile was the only show of triumph Chuck allowed himself to display; the mission had gone better than he had hoped – there was a bit of difficulty along the way, but that was to be expected. _What a night!_

Closing the front door, Forrest moved towards her computers; she keyed in a request to link with Graham while she instructed, "Set him on that chair. I'll deal with him later." It was a short instant before the live video conference with the Assistant Director of the CIA commenced.

"Forrest," Graham stated in greeting, his expression exhibited an unclear indication of appreciation for the conference request due to the break it granted him from the large amount of paperwork visible on his desk. "What is it?"

"Carmichael would like to report on his mission." Forrest responded – conversely, her focus was ensnared by the shirtless MI6 agent whom currently occupied himself with treating his wounds.

"Ah," The CIA superior consented, "Very well."

* * *

><p>Graham reflected on the accounts he had been given by the participating agents of the MI6CIA joint operation, and he was more than pleased with the results. The mission objective was originally to collect information on the arms dealer, but Avakian's capture was even better. Resisting the urge to quirk the corner of his lips into a minimal smile, he commended the two operatives. "Carmichael, Barker, job well done. Agents will arrive later to convey Avakian to a secure facility." With those words, he gave a nod of approval before he pardoned himself, "Graham, out."

Expressing his exhaustion through a yawn, Chuck progressed towards the door, his thoughts engrossed in reaching his bed for some rest. His path to the exit, however, was blocked by Forrest.

"Did Barker say anything about me?" She probed quietly as she eyed the MI6 agent resting on her couch. _Damn, him. _As she became aware of her resurfacing emotions, she clenched her jaw, straining to shove them back down. _He'll leave for another mission and you'll forget him, Alex. Keep him in the past. There's nothing more you can gain from a relationship with him. _

Slightly curious about the unexpected query, he recalled the intelligence the Intersect had provided him on Cole - realization hit him as he connected the piece of information about the MI6/CIA incident to his partner and the MI6 agent. _Ohh, I see. _"No, he didn't."

Forrest nodded, a mixture of relief and disappointment overtook her; she shook her head as an attempt to drive her confusion about Barker away. "It's time for you all to leave."

"Night, Forrest." Chuck said as he left the apartment for his own.

"Alex," Forrest stiffened as the MI6 agent walked up to her; he smiled once again, flaunting his rugged charm as he spoke, seemingly genuine, "It really was nice seeing you again." Cole held out a card, which Forrest found herself taking from him. "It's the only way to contact me when I leave. Er, I hope you use it."

Before she could respond sharply to convey her antipathy towards him, the man drew near, pecking her on the cheek. Without another word, he left Forrest to organize her muddled thoughts.

* * *

><p><strong>25 May 2005<strong>

**1200 Hours**

**Buy More**

**Burbank, California**

"I don't think that's such a great idea, Morgan." Chuck advised his shorter friend, hoping his warning would be taken into regard. _Oh, god. I can't watch._ He covered his eyes as the Buy More sales staff, or 'greenshirts' as Chuck learned to refer to them as, ceased chanting "Mystery Crisper" – silence had fallen as everyone in the Buy More break room watched in awe as Morgan managed to eat the undoubtedly spoiled contents of one of the many forsaken Tupperware containers in the break room's fridge. _I have no idea how he hasn't gotten sick from this._

A member of the Nerd Herd, the Buy More's computer and technical support staff, yelled for everyone to place their bets for the next round of 'Mystery Crisper' when the door slammed open, ramming the scrawny man off to the side.

"What's the rush, sister?" The man started to protest before his companion, a balding man with a permanently vacant expression plastered on his face, nudged him to consider the woman's assets. "Hello, the name's Lester. The pleasure's all yours." His outstretched hand and introduction went unnoticed as the woman advanced past him towards Grimes' friend. _What the hell?_

"Bartowski," Forrest motioned for him to follow prior to exiting the break room as quickly as she had come in. _I hate this place._ _Filled with a bunch of morons._

"What is it?" Chuck asked, regarding his partner's shift in character since her reunion with the MI6 agent. _I hope she's okay. She didn't say anything when Cole left the other day. _Forrest had disclosed her history with Cole to him, greatly implying how strong her feelings had been for the man in the past.

"I got a call from Graham. New mission." The blonde woman clarified without breaking a stride as Bartowski moved alongside her. _He's not going to like this._ "You'll be going undercover to infiltrate a splinter group of the CIA – Fulcrum."

His brows furrowed slightly, "Why am I getting the feeling that I'll be going undercover for a while?"

"This is a big mission, Bartowski. You're moving up in the world." With a discomforted pat on the shoulder, Forrest resumed filling the taller man in about his assignment. "There'll be a change of scenery. You're headed to Paris. I'm staying here for a few days before we rendezvous. You'll update me on your progress then."

"Splinter group of the CIA, huh?" Chuck crossed his arms as he spoke his thoughts aloud, "I'm assuming that anything associating me with the CIA will be erased. I mean I am going undercover, right?"

"Precisely. Any contact with family or friends is prohibited as well. However, you can entrust me with making sure they know you're safe."

A conceding smile formed on Chuck's face, "Thanks, Forrest."

* * *

><p><strong>1246 Hours<strong>

**Casa de Bartowski**

**Echo Park, Los Angeles, California**

"Ellie?" Chuck called out as he entered the apartment he shared with his sister and her boyfriend. The sound of a blender being used originated from the kitchen – identifying the figure making a protein shake, he greeted over the shrill drone of the blender, "Hey, Awesome. Where's Ellie?"

The fit man replied, "At work, bro. They called her in this morning." Sensing there was something more going on, he finished concocting his shake, "What's up, Chuck?"

"I have to go off on a business trip." Chuck explained as he headed off to grab his duffel bag in his room. "I don't know how long I'll be gone."

Awesome trailed after his girlfriend's relatedly compassionate sibling, "Sounds like a big deal. Way to go, man! That's awesome." He grinned broadly, straightforwardly displaying how proud he was of the man he considered as a brother. "You should tell El that you're leaving, though. You know how she is."

Chuck agreed, "Yeah." _I'll visit her at the hospital on my way to LAX. _Slinging duffel bag over a shoulder, he gave the Captain a hug goodbye. "I'll see you in a while."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Sarah and Chuck will meet soon, I promise!

Happy Holidays, everyone! Do continue to review and give me your thoughts on this fic!


	8. Chuck Versus The Reunion

Hey, everyone! Here's another chapter! Oh! French was used in this chapter thanks to Google Translate, haha. I'm assuming it's alright. Awesome tidbits at the Author's Note at the bottom!

Disclaimer: I do not own Chuck, no matter how hard I wish I did.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chuck Versus The Reunion<strong>_

**27 May 2005**

**0900 Hours**

**CIA Building**

**Washington D.C.**

"What exactly are you inferring?" Graham scrutinized the agent displayed on his computer monitor.

"Sir, isn't it hasty to assign Bartowski to a long-term mission?" Forrest found it strange for such a high-risk operation to be given to her partner. The man was adeptly trained – she made sure of that – but she was not yet convinced he was ready for an assignment involving significant undercover work. _He hasn't even killed yet. _"He only just completed his first job as an official operative."

"With notable results. The Human Intersect did well." Graham remarked as he removed his eyeglasses. "In any case, sending Bartowski off on this operation will allow him to experience what he cannot there in Los Angeles."

"But, sir –"

"You will meet with him every two weeks for an update on his status. Other than that, I need you to oversee the construction of your new base of operations." The Assistant Director did not miss the glint of interest in Forrest's eyes when he spoke of the recently funded headquarters for Team Carmichael. "I'll have a file sent to you."

* * *

><p><strong>31 December 2005<strong>

**2200 Hours**

**Bar Le Defender, Hotel Du Louvre**

**Paris, France**

The flowing melodies of the saxophone hung in the air as the gentle taps of percussion and mellow keys of piano joined in, blending together as the bar Le Defender's palliative ambience. The color scheme of crimson velvet reflected on the status of its patrons – all of whom were dressed impressively for the exclusive New Year's Eve event organized by the Hotel Du Louvre.

The soft murmur of conversation paused as a picturesque beauty aptly dressed in a black cocktail dress entered the room, acquiring the attention of both men and women as she coolly made her way to the bar. Seated, she succinctly specified her choice for a drink, "Je voudrais un verre de Paradise." The woman engaged herself with twirling an errant strand of hair around her finger while the rest of her golden tresses were secured in a tastefully loose bun, snubbing each man who strove to initiate a conversation with her.

"Un verre de Paradise," The bartender placed the drink in front of the woman with a practiced hand, acknowledging her with a wink before tending to his other customers.

Releasing an inaudible sigh, she took a sip of her drink – her mind dwelled on her partner Bryce Larkin, posing as the bartender, and his increasingly aloof behavior since the start of their assignment. _He's been so distant lately… _With a muted cough from the man occupying her thoughts, she concentrated on the task at hand as she compartmentalized her feelings for a later date.

For the past three weeks, they had been itinerant, traveling from places such as Columbus, Ohio to Antigua, Guatemala as they investigated Fulcrum, a hostile organization compromising of rogue agents from various branches of the federal government. The information they gathered so far steered them to Paris. _Not a bad place to spend the New Year_, Sarah thought positively, evoking the short, yet gratifying break she and Bryce had spent in Cabo that summer.

As she viewed the rest of Le Defender's clienteles through the proper use of her peripherals and the numerous reflective surfaces in the bar, she replaced memories of Cabo with the plan she and her partner had thought up earlier in their hotel room – she was to intercept a package intended to be transported to a member of Fulcrum. The package in particular was a USB drive containing classified intelligence from the CIA with the consequences calamitous if its contents were to fall into the wrong hands.

A bespectacled man near the entrance of the bar seemed normal enough as with the rest of the people she had held under her scrutiny. Intuition, however, prevented her from failing to notice the man's vigilance towards his fellow patrons as well as his detachment from the crowd. _Must be the one. _She frowned as the man began to depart. _Where is he going? Damn it. I'm going to have to follow him._

Discerning the signal from his partner, Bryce gave a nod, watching as his girlfriend trailed after her mark.

* * *

><p>Leisurely strolling into the hotel lobby, the man smiled faintly as he expertly pinpointed the location of each security camera in the foyer. The several months he had spent in Paris led him to call the Hotel Du Louvre his home as he carried on with his mission of furthering his position within the ranks of Fulcrum.<p>

_I wonder how Ellie and Awesome are doing… _He thought back to his last contact with Forrest; it was the week before Christmas, and he had given her his presents to distribute to those closest to him, including a state-of-the-art tranq pistol for the stern mentor. _I wish I could've seen their faces when they opened it…_ His confidence for his gift-giving skills was palpable on his expression in the form of a light grin before it was overshadowed with the guilt of missing another holiday. _Sorry, El. Gotta do my part in saving the world._

Establishing the time from his phone, Chuck scanned the lobby before a smartly dressed man collided into him – it was strange, keeping in mind that the lobby was rather empty and commodious. He excused himself, "Sorry, are you okay?"

"Carmichael?" The man queried with a thick accent, a hand guardedly in his pocket whilst the other adjusted his glasses.

"Yes." _The courier,_ Chuck identified the man.

Upon validation from his glasses' voice and facial recognition function, the agent nodded as he retrieved a minute box from his pocket and handed it to the Fulcrum operative. "Here you go, sir."

The taller man accepted the box, completely aware of what it contained. _The flash drive._ Tucking the small package in his suit jacket's inside breast pocket, Chuck separated from the courier and proceeded towards the elevator.

* * *

><p>After witnessing the man she had shadowed consign the USB to whom she deemed as Fulcrum, Sarah watched as the enemy agent entered an elevator. <em>He's going back to his room; I have to act fast.<em>

"Excusez-moi," She smiled charmingly as she stumbled in front of the elevator, feigning intoxication. _One of the oldest tricks in the handbook._ "Je suis perdu. Pouvez-vous m'aider?"

Chuck regarded the exceptionally attractive blonde in front of him, doing all he could to keep his mouth shut as he struggled for an appropriate response given that his present state of mind had been reduced to producing no more than inarticulate babble. _She's… She's really… _

Sarah asked ingenuously, inwardly pleased with her effect on the man. "Etes-vous d'accord?"

"Um," He composed his thoughts, "Je suis désolé, mais parlez-vous anglais? Je suis américain." His chocolate brown eyes enamored by the woman's ceruleans as he stepped closer to the elevator's entrance, preventing the doors from closing by standing in its path.

"I'm lost, can you help me?" She repeated in English, moving unsteadily towards the Fulcrum operative in the pretense of her inebriation. "I've had a little too much wine." She stumbled once more – this time into the man.

"Yeah, sure." Chuck replied, holding the blonde up as she giggled from her drunken giddiness. "Which floor?" He moved back into the elevator as he considered the panel of buttons each labeled with the floor it traveled to.

Stepping away from the man's support, Sarah randomly pressed the button for the top floor, triggering the doors to shut. "This one," Dropping her clutch bag onto the floor, she spun on her heels and promptly jabbed at the brunette, intending to knock him out with a solid strike to the jaw.

The attack barely missed the man, who was able to duck in time.

"Whoa, what was that?" Chuck commented as he settled himself into his lax fighting stance; his brows indiscernibly contracted at the unexpected hostility. _I let my guard down. Not the greatest thing to do when anyone can be your enemy._

"Hand over the flash drive," The woman commanded in the midst of her incessant assaults, which were met with the enemy agent's deflections. _He's good. I'll give him that._

"Can't do that." Blocking a punch to his face, he managed to push her back, producing a groan from the blonde as her back hit the wall.

Determination flared in her blue eyes as she drew her hair pins from maintaining her updo; her hair undid itself, cascading around her face and onto shoulders like a golden wave. Flipping her head back for her hair to shift away from her face, she assessed her opponent. _He's got reach and speed_, Sarah noted the man's build._ Not as bulky as a typical agent would be, but I can't let that fool me._

Chuck outwardly frowned as he beheld the hair pins, taking the idea that anything could be used as a weapon into mind. _Might've been dipped in poison. Hope it's one I'm immune to._ He viewed the woman warily as they circled each other within the limitations of the elevator, waiting for someone to make a move.

With a trained flick from Sarah's wrist, a hair pin tore through the air and pierced the man's left shoulder. She followed the attack with another as her other hair pin punctured the man's right thigh.

A sharp inhale was the only sign of discomfort the man displayed.

_The poison should be affecting him by now, _Sarah watched as the man yanked the lengthy pins out, his features presenting no indication of his effort to move as the poison paralyzed him. _Ah! _She narrowly dodged the roundhouse kick the man smoothly delivered.

"What type of poison were your hair pins dipped in? I'm most likely immune to several variants of it." He antagonized the blonde into responding with a barrage of strikes, which he capably diverted, much to the woman's rising frustration.

She furrowed her eyebrows upon realization – the man was deliberately tiring her out as he practically danced around her while she strove to land a hit. _Son of a bitch!_ Analyzing the Fulcrum operative's movements, she took a rapid step forward, surprising the man as she successfully delivered an uppercut to his midsection.

Staggering back breathless, Chuck was unable to anticipate the woman's next move as she executed a leg sweep, knocking his legs out from under him.

"Give me the USB, or…" Sarah paused as she pulled out her gun from her clutch bag, targeting it at the man's head. "Things will get messy."

He held his hands up as he stood, wordlessly communicating that he did not want things to get messy at all._ Note to self: Always bring a weapon. _"Alright, alright. It's in my pocket."

"Which pocket?" The blonde probed bluntly, "You're wasting my time."

"Left inside breast pocket." He waited for the woman to move towards him to extricate the flash drive from his custody, which would allow him to swat the firearm from her hand and feasibly subdue her. Instead, she motioned for him to pull the USB out.

"Go on."

_Plan B, then. _He extracted the small package from his pocket and held it out for the woman, "Here."

"Drop it on the ground and kick it to me."

Chuck acceded to her order and watched her kneel down to retrieve box while she continued to train her weapon at him. With a swift kick, the weapon flew out of the woman's grasp, clattering against the ground as it landed.

Sarah snatched the small box and quickly stood up; she was caught off-guard, however, as the Fulcrum operative drove her back, effectively pinning her against the wall with her hands above her head and his knee in the space between her legs, their close proximity limited her ability to efficiently knee him in the groin. _Damn him. _

Reclaiming the box from the blonde, he slipped it into his pocket as he addressed her, "Who do you work for?"_ She can't be Fulcrum… I'm Fulcrum. Who is she? DGSE? She seems American though…_

Before she could answer him, the elevator doors opened to reveal their present situation to an elderly couple aghast from what they were witnessing.

"Oh! Oh, it's not what it looks like!" Chuck attempted to dismiss the evident thoughts of the hotel's older guests. Rapidly pushing the button for the doors to close, he told them, "I'm so sorry! Please take the next one!"

Benefiting from the brunette's slackened hold, she pulled her arms free before pushing the man back. Sarah dove for her favored S&W M5906 pistol, but the man kicked it away from her reach, irritating her further as she moved for it once more, this time retrieving successfully. Aiming the gun at the man, she ordered, "Hands up!"

Hands raised once more, he eyed the gun cautiously, on his guard for he knew he had provoked the deadly blonde to her limit. _What am I going to do? What am I going to do? _Methods of escape flooded his mind, several included eliminating the woman, which he did not wish to do.

A ding rang within the elevator, signaling that their destination had been reached at the uppermost floor. Faster than the woman could react, Chuck made a run for it, his long limbs giving him an advantage as he covered more ground. _Where to go? Where to go?_ Glimpsing at a sign which stated that he was headed towards the fire escape, he quickened his pace before he took a sharp turn to the right and reached the stairs, skipping three steps at a time as he made his way down. _Down I go!_

"Sarah! I'm coming!" A man's voice boomed from a lower flight, alerting Chuck as he established that the blonde pursuing him was Sarah and that she had a companion.

_Never mind, up, up, UP! _He thought as he turned the opposite direction, bounding up the stairs for the roof. Inwardly thanking the training regimen he had initially began with the intention of improving his physique to match his fellow recruits at Langley, he was not as winded as he would have been two years ago.

Pushing open the doors, he was greeted with a rush of cold air and icy droplets on his face as he stepped onto the hotel rooftop. _Trapped. _He groaned as he looked over the edges of the roof, unable to see the streets below due to the dense fog.

"AGH!" Chuck crumpled to the ground from the shot of pain, clutching his wounded leg and applying pressure to where the bullet had grazed his thigh. Forcing the thoughts of his present agony into the depths of his mind, he clenched his jaw to view his assailant, _She shot me! _"You shot me!"

"It's just a flesh wound. I'm ready to do a lot worse if you don't hand over the USB." Sarah trained her gun at him, "No more games."

The injured man frowned as he weighed his options, his damp hair appeared black against his seemingly pale skin, all due to the wintry downpour. "Fine." He reached into his jacket's inside pocket and held it out for her.

Sarah approached the Fulcrum operative warily, prepared to utilize her gun if the man attempted anything unexpected.

As she neared, Chuck racked his mind for a way for him to leave with the USB, so he could complete what should have been an uncomplicated job. _I need to get rid of that gun._ As if his wish had been granted, a soft rumble of thunder caused the woman to briefly hesitate because of the distraction – it was just what he needed. He seized the firearm, pulling it to his right flank, as he spun around, hauling the woman along as he did.

Once she had released her grip on her pistol, the momentum caused her to fall down to where the enemy agent had been a second earlier. _Damn it!_ Sarah clenched her fists as she strained to keep her irritation in check; the frequent role reversals that had occurred throughout the night were the main source of her ire as she watched the man chucked her favored gun over the roof's ledge.

"I'm really sorry if that was your favorite gun," Chuck stated as he backed away from the blonde, "But you were trying to kill me, so…"

* * *

><p>Finally arriving at the rooftop level, Bryce kicked open the doors, wincing slightly as the freezing rain stung his skin while he stepped outside. <em>A little theatrics never hurt anyone<em>, he thought to himself as the wind tousled his hair and chilled his face.

His partner's assailant had his back to him, which Bryce deemed a fatal mistake as he advanced towards the tall man stealthily, priming himself to administer a chokehold.

Swiftly wrapping his arm around his adversary's neck, Bryce was unprepared for the man's counter as he was flipped onto his back. He grumbled at the speed of his chokehold's deterrence. _This guy is alright. _His eyes widened when he saw the man who had subdued him without any difficulty. "Chuck!"

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thank you for reading! Please review, comment, and what not! Feel free to PM if you have any queries.

Here are some random stuff about this chapter:

- The song I had in mind for the bar Le Defender scene was 'The Fragrance of Dark Coffee (Godot's Theme)' Orchestra Version_. _I suggest the fourth one if you YouTube it.

- DGSE is the France's intelligence agency

- Hotel Du Louvre and bar Le Defender are real places in this work of fiction!

Translations (French to English):

Sarah: Je voudrais un verre de Paradise. - I want a glass of Paradise.

Bryce: Un verre de Paradise. - One glass of Paradise.

Sarah: Excusez-moi. Je suis perdu. Pouvez-vous m'aider? - Excuse me. I'm lost. Can you help me?

Sarah: Etes-vous d'accord? - Are you okay?

Chuck: Je suis désolé, mais parlez-vous anglais? Je suis américain. - I'm sorry, but do you speak English? I'm American.


	9. Chuck Versus The Rescue

Hot off the presses! Or something like that. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, but I do own a collection of the comic books, which I got as a Christmas present.

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><p><em><strong>Chuck Versus The Rescue<strong>_

**31 December 2005**

**2300 Hours**

**Hotel du Louvre Rooftop**

**Paris, France**

"Bryce," Chuck spoke aloud once his brain registered the identity of the man whose attack he had forestalled. _What is he doing here?_

The blonde addressed her partner lying on the ground beside her as she stood up, "He's the Fulcrum agent."

Discerning that her boyfriend and her adversary were familiar with each other, she arched an eyebrow at Bryce as she studied his face for clues of their relationship, which went unnoticed as his current preoccupation was on the enemy operative whom had caught her unprepared, effectively disposed of her pistol, and thwarted Bryce's assault from behind without any difficulty on his part. _He's good_, she admitted once more. "He has the flash drive."

_He can't be… _Pushing himself up, Bryce extended his hand out to Chuck whilst his tone was meant to ease any antagonism on his friend's part. "I don't believe you'd betray your own country, Chuck. Give us the USB, and we can fix this."

Chuck shook his head, backing away as he placed plugs in his ears before he reached into his pocket, "I don't think so, Bryce." _I don't plan on sticking around._

Sarah looked at the man skeptically as he pulled out a pen, "A pen? Reall—"

With a click, a blinding flash of light combined with the bang of a deafening blast overwhelmed the two CIA agents' senses, disorienting them as they could neither hear nor see.

"What the hell?"Sarah cried out, vainly blinking her eyes to regain her sight while she clasped her ears as an attempt to stop the ringing. _Must have been a flash grenade._ After a moment, her vision and hearing returned; she looked to her boyfriend to find that he had recovered as well.

Bryce regarded the empty space where Chuck had occupied seconds earlier with a frown, running his fingers through his wet hair out of habit while he considered the remains of the flashbang, an intact grenade body, and how the man had somehow set it behind them undetected. _Damn it, Chuck. How could you be working for Fulcrum?_

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><p>Racing down several flights of stairs, Chuck tore through the hotel lobby, paying no attention to the perplexed looks he received from the staff and the affluent guests of the Hotel du Louvre. <em>I need to get somewhere secure. <em>He inwardly groaned at the thought of staying at Fulcrum's local base.

Interaction with his 'fellow' Fulcrum operatives was stiff, to say the least. The rogue agents whom compromised the organization were adept killers, harboring an immense amount of enmity towards the existing government procedures._ Not the type of people to sit and chat with. _

The heavy shower that Chuck had faced on the rooftop had subsided, leaving a frigid mist in its place. He welcomed the chill for it alleviated him a bit by dulling the pain that throbbed from his tender right thigh where he had gotten grazed by the blonde's cautionary shot. _Man, this hurts._ His nostrils flared slightly as he pressed forward, doing his best to keep away from the major streets, notoriously laden with tourists, as he meandered through the upscale shopping district.

_There it is!_ He thought as he jogged towards the side entrance of the Fulcrum safe house veiled as a boutique. Typing in the pin into the cloaked keypad, Chuck awaited his entry to be sanctioned when he perceived someone approaching from behind, inciting him to turn around.

"Charles," A dusky-haired vamp gave him a wicked smirk as she drew near, her stilettos tapped against the sidewalk with each step she took, while her escort unit followed close behind.

"Alexis, how are you?" Chuck responded with a tense smile, which the Fulcrum operative disregarded as she batted her long, dark eyelashes at him. _I can't catch a break_, he grumbled. _She's been after me for months._

Every move she made was imbued with deliberate allure meant to render men under her control. "I've missed you." She pouted her ruby lips, lightly tugging at the taller man's suit jacket; her mild irritation towards him and his unresponsive libido was ably hidden as she placed her hand on his wounded thigh. "You're hurt. Where've you been?"

"I ran into some trouble when I went to pick up the package." He took her hand in his, restricting it from drifting anywhere else. "We should go inside," Chuck proposed, moving aside to permit the woman entrance into the base first.

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><p><strong>1 January 2006<strong>

**0400 Hours**

**Abandoned Warehouse**

**Outskirts of Paris, France**

_Ugh…_ A groan escaped Bryce as he roused from his sedated slumber. His limbs sore from his discomforted state – his wrists were manacled high above his head as the rattling of chains signaled whenever he swayed from his position. _What the hell happened? …Chuck escaped… We grabbed a taxi to get back to our hotel and… We never got back to our hotel! The taxi driver… He…_

"Bryce," Sarah breathed out with evident relief as she became aware of his cognizance. _He's okay. _The low temperature palpably affected her as her body shook, worsened by the scarce amount of clothing she presently bore owing to how she had been stripped to her underclothes. _We just have to get out of here._

"How long was I out?" He inquired as he found his partner to his right, comparably bound and underdressed. Surveying their surroundings, he remarked the chain link fence that surrounded the wide space around them. Rusted pulleys and chains were suspended from the ceiling as numerous crates lined the other side of the fence. _A warehouse, how quaint._

The assortment of syringes and torture-related tools situated on a table adjacent to the entrance of their confinement unnerved her as she replied, "No idea, I woke up a few minutes ago."

Tilting her head back to view her restraints above, she made an effort to free herself as she strained to wriggle her wrists from the cuffs, but to no avail as the rough metal scraped against her skin.

The sound of heels against concrete forewarned the shackled CIA agents of their captor's appearance.

Attired figure-hugging business suit, the woman sauntered towards them, her hips swaying enticingly as she did so. She greeted them, noting the captive man's attentions lingered on her chest, "Happy New Year. It's a shame you missed the countdown."

As she made her way towards them, the dark-haired Fulcrum operative selected a machete from the table, pointing it towards the sneering blonde once she was close enough. "Sarah Walker," She then directed the pointed end of the blade towards the good-looking brunette, "And Bryce Larkin of the CIA.

"We have reason to believe that you have information about the Intersect." A corner of her lips quirked up into a malevolent smirk. "So, who wants to tell me first?" _This is going to be fun._

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><p><strong>0450 Hours<strong>

**Duplex Suite, Castille Paris Hotel**

**Paris, France**

At the sound of his ringtone, Tank! by The Seatbelts, Chuck undesirably roused from his ephemeral slumber and grabbed the source of the jazz song atop the bedside table, answering, "Hello?"

"Bartowski," The recently promoted Director of the CIA began, the increased curtness in his speech, though slight, indicated the importance of the problem he was about to address, "Two of our agents were on an investigation that brought them to Paris. They were expected to report in their status at 0100, local time."

Chuck speculated what had occurred, "A rescue mission?"

"At their last briefing, I was informed that they were going to a local hotel to intercept a package from a member of Fulcrum." Graham rubbed his temples at how he was starting off the New Year, _Larkin…_

_It couldn't be. _Chuck inquired, "Which hotel?"

There was a slight pause and a shuffle of papers on the other line before his superior replied, "Hotel du Louvre. The agents are—"

Outwardly sighing, Chuck furrowed his brows at the predicament, "Bryce Larkin."

"And Sarah Walker." Graham added, "How do you—"

_So Bryce Larkin is CIA? Fantastic, _he thought as he mussed his hair up from his irritation, "I got acquainted with them earlier on the hotel's rooftop."

_What?_ The Director scowled at the oversight, mentally making a note to confront the agent supervising Walker and Larkin for their failure to alert the duo about the undercover operation in Paris. After taking a moment to contemplate on the matter at hand, he succinctly conveyed his decision, "This is, indeed, a rescue mission. Head straight to the Charles de Gaulle Airport immediately. I'll make sure there's a plane waiting for you."

Chuck raised his brow at what his superior was implying, "Sir?"

"You're going home, Bartowski. I'm relocating you back to the LA area. After you rescue Larkin and Walker, that is."

* * *

><p><strong>0523 Hours<strong>

**Abandoned Warehouse**

**Outskirts of Paris, France**

"Just tell me everything you know about the Intersect and you won't have to go through this pain." Alexis repeated as she paced in front of the two CIA operatives, stopping in front of Larkin for a second to regard the man's toned form. _I wonder how he is in—_

"Fuck you." Sarah spat, a trail of blood trickled down to her chin from the cut on her lower lip. Her breathing ragged due to the several fractured ribs she knew she had acquired from her role as the malicious woman's designated punching bag. Inwardly frowning at her partner's drug-induced comatose from whatever the Fulcrum agent had injected him with, she opened her mouth to voice her intense animosity but was interrupted at the sound of a new arrival.

"Started the fun without me, Alexis?" A tall, brunette man clad in a thick grey pea coat stated with a trace of dry humor as he moved into the light that had started to emerge from the windows above, exposing his identity as the man she had pursued to the Hotel du Louvre's rooftop.

Shrugging his coat off with ease, Chuck moved aside some of White's preferred implements of torture to make room for his jacket as he continued his façade as the woman's blasé colleague. He slightly winced at the blonde's battered figure – her hair now clung to the blood smeared on her face whilst her ivory skin was blotched with the beginnings of discoloration, from Alexis's thrashing no doubt.

_How am I going to do this? _He wracked his mind for a way to do so without the merciless Fulcrum operatives realizing whom he was truly loyal to. _They'll figure it out that I'm CIA and they'll come after me… Damn it. I'll have to eliminate them._

Noticing Bryce's insentient form, he tersely ordered, appearing unperturbed by the bloody state of the blonde captive and rolling up his sleeves as if he was preparing to join the woman on supplying the torture to the restrained, "Wake him up."

One of the idle Fulcrum goons promptly obeyed the command as he carried a bucket of water and lumbered towards the unconscious prisoner.

With a strong forward lunge of the bucket, an ice-cold wake-up call greeted Bryce Larkin on the face, inciting him to lift his head up instantaneously in order to consider his situation. _Chuck? _He took notice of the callous woman who had impaled him with a syringe standing adjacent to Chuck, H_e IS working for Fulcrum then… _

"Charles, what brings you here?" The sadistic Fulcrum agent casually asked as she browsed the table of miscellaneous tools of torture, wielding several before setting each back down as she opted for the single-tail whip.

"Ugh!" Bryce groaned from the hard right hook he received to his face, producing a crack as his nose broke. _Agh! _The blow caused him to swing to his right and bump into his partner as blood dripped from his damaged nose and onto the ground, marking the concrete with crimson specks as he swayed from side to side.

_That's a mean right hook_. Alexis remarked as Charles shook his hand off to the side, though the gore from his assault remained on his knuckles. Drawn by the man's sudden show of aggression, she asked, "Why such hostility?"

"They gave me trouble earlier." Chuck responded offhandedly as he joined the dark-haired woman beside the weapon-covered table, indiscernibly slipping his hands into the coat he had placed on the table.

Directing a leer towards her fellow Fulcrum operative, Alexis turned away and proceeded to stroll towards the bound CIA agents, her selected instrument of pain in hand.

Sarah observed as Bryce readied himself for the impending strike – yet, none came as the tall lean brunette swiftly withdrew two tranq pistols that had been concealed in the grey pea coat he had taken off earlier and commenced to shoot at every Fulcrum operative in sight, resonant thuds denoted each successful hit as sedated bodies soon littered the warehouse floor.

Automatically retrieving a bolt cutter and his coat from the table after he posited his pistols securely on the back of his waistband, Chuck moved towards the restrained operatives and effectively clipped their chains, starting off with Bryce.

Rubbing his sore wrists as soon as he was freed, Bryce grimaced as he readjusted his nose, perceiving a small pop when he did. _Hope it heals back alright. _

Unable to bear her own weight, her aching legs gave out from underneath the instant she was freed from her manacles; instead of hitting the concrete, however, Sarah was caught by the man from the Hotel du Louvre.

Chuck held the bruised agent up, covering her scarcely dressed form with his coat, and released her once she was steady on her own. He considered the unconscious Fulcrum operatives before he made his way to the exit, "Let's go."

Sarah viewed the man charily, unsure whether to trust him or not – bearing in mind that she had no other choice, she tentatively trailed after the man, clutching his coat around her body closer to retain the warmth it provided.

Becoming aware that his partner had went along with their rescuer without him, he viewed the array of syringes set on the table before he seized several filled with a poison he distinguished was lethal. He hastily injected each of the tranquilized rogue agents with a fatal dose before he raced after Chuck and Sarah.

* * *

><p><strong>0600 Hours<strong>

**Charles de Gaulle Airport**

**Paris, France**

The ride to the airport had been occupied with an agreed silence following Chuck's elucidation of his identity and his occupation within the CIA; the rest of the period had been spent catching up on some well-deserved rest as the two recently liberated operatives slept as comfortably as they could in the backseat.

"Sir," The flight attendant greeted as Chuck entered the plane, following after Sarah and Bryce. "We'll be departing in five minutes."

With a nod from the only uninjured agent of the trio, the steward disappeared to his station.

Taking the seat opposite of the partnered operatives, Chuck looked out the window, watching as an orange light peaked from the horizon, casting light onto the awakening city.

Sarah studied the man across from her – the same man she had meant to cause bodily harm to, hours earlier – his gaze unfocused as she determined that his mind was anywhere but the present. _Strange, how things work out. _

She was unaware of how her attentions lingered on him as the sunrise's orange glow shone on his face, drawing shadows from his sharp features that made the entire moment picturesque.

"Babe," Bryce reiterated for the concerned flight attendant, finally bringing his partner out of her oblivious reverie.

"Yeah?" Sarah responded as she realized she had been staring, "What?"

"The plane is airborne and stable. I wanted to inquire if you'd like to change of clothes." The steward politely expressed as he poured Bryce a glass of the Bordeaux he had requested.

"That'd be great, actually." Sarah unbuckled her seatbelt and tailed after the flight attendant.

Establishing that his partner was out of audible range, Bryce began, "Chuck, how did you—"

"Recruited into the agency the same day as my expulsion." The reply was brusque, unwelcoming – it straightforwardly revealed how Chuck felt towards the man whom epitomized his past.

_Damn it,_ Bryce thought as he observed the man he still regarded as his only true friend; all the precautions he had done to deter Chuck Bartowski from becoming entangled in the clandestine business was all for naught – he had failed. "Chuck, listen, I can explain–"

"Save it. I'm sure you had your reasons, however thoughtless they were." He looked at Bryce, straight into the man's eyes, deliberate and unwavering as he spoke. "I want to get one thing straight: you are _not_ my friend. It's been two years. I'm no longer the Chuck Bartowski you knew. I don't know about you, but I've grown, Bryce. From my own choices and yours."

He did not want to be there. In front of Bryce Larkin, the man who framed him, the man who got him expelled for what seemed to be no reason at all. He wanted to forgive the man, but residual anger prevented him. _All in due time, maybe. _With a mental sigh, he resolved, _He works for the CIA. I work for the CIA. I should be professional. _"I'm going to ask the pilot how long our flight will take."

Without another word, he stood up from his seat and left for the flight deck.

_I'm really sorry, Chuck. _Bryce ran his fingers through his hair, his mind overrun with what the man had said. _I did it for your own good. I—I really did._ His reasoning occupied his thoughts as it played on a loop; his actions appeared more and more callous as he contemplated on what he had done.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I'd like to thank you all for continuing to read this fanfic! I'm really enjoying writing for y'all whenever I get the chance. Please review and tell me your thoughts on this chapter!

Tank! by The Seatbelts (Cowboy Bebop's opening theme) is currently my ringtone and I made it Chuck's since it's jazz and I assume he likes jazz since his favorite song is Nina Simone's version of Feeling Good. It also has the spy theme going on with it. Do listen to it if you don't know the song.


	10. Chuck Versus The Fortune

Hello, everyone! Sorry, it's been a while. I'm in serious need of a beta to help me out and remind me to work on this. Anyone interested? Yes, no, maybe so? PM me if you are. Random PMs of encouragement would be great as well.

In other news, I got accepted into the college of my choice so all is well. I just need to survive senior year. Ugh.

Also, I'm working on a ff involving Chuck and Sarah but back in Ancient Egypt. What do you think?

Well, enjoy the latest chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own Chuck and I have been completely heartbroken since it ended.

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><p><em><strong>Chuck Versus The Fortune<strong>_

**1 January 2006**

**1133 Hours**

**LEOS Inc.**

**Los Angeles, California**

_ Relax and breathe_, Chuck told himself, his eyes closed as he freed his mind of all distractions that had previously afflicted him.

Opening his eyes, he unleashed a succession of strikes onto the heavy bag in front of him; his assault unrestrained, his movements moderately fluid – the injury he had acquired on Hotel du Louvre's rooftop impeded him from being wholly at his best – and his mind clear. A vague tug on the corner of his lips exposed his ease as he released a breath contentedly and moved away from the subject of his assailment that currently swung fitfully from the abuse prior to resuming his onslaught.

The moment the plane had landed at LAX, Chuck had made it his goal to put as much distance as he could between him and Bryce Larkin; it had been rather easy to do so as Forrest had attended to the two operatives and left him with the address of their new base of operations, which he had gone straight to following a stop by Echo Park where he had spent the better half of the morning divulging the details of his fictional 'business trip' to his sister and her boyfriend before they left for work.

An hour or so into his workout, the hiss of the gym door interrupted the relatively still space and signaled a new arrival as someone called out into the room, "Chuck?"

"Agent Walker," He replied without even looking at the woman he considered undeniably attractive, maintaining his focus on his unbroken chain of attacks as he maneuvered around the heavy bag, instinctively avoiding its erratic swaying. "What are you doing here?"

"Just looking around." Sarah walked closer to the center of the gym where the operative was ably landing debilitating blows onto the punching bag without any sign of fatigue. Her concentration unintentionally became engrossed in viewing the brunet in front of her – he was leanly muscular, his sleeveless grey shirt bared his taut arm muscles as he circled around the heavy bag, his skin had a light sheen of sweat as his espresso brown curls stuck to his forehead. _His hits are economical, _she observed, enthralled by the man's flowing and steady offense as each strike was expeditiously followed by another.

_Wait… S_he thought back to the agent's deflections to her torrential assault at the Hotel du Louvre and how it greatly contrasted with the present show of the man's hostility. _He didn't show this level of aggression back in Paris. Was he holding back at the hotel?_ The notion caused her to frown inwardly.

Despite that, a pang of guilt struck her as she became aware of the faint limp the operative had as he moved, which she discerned was from the bullet wound she had inflicted upon him. "Are you okay?"

Chuck turned to Bryce's partner, pausing from wreaking any more damage onto the bag as he tilted his head at the question, "What do you mean? I'm fine."

Failing to keep in mind the spasmodic swinging of the heavy bag, he found himself knocked onto his back as a result of the battered bag enacting its retaliation. "Ow…"

Sarah crossed her arms as she looked down at the taller man's sprawled out form on the floor, "I can see that."

Softly chuckling at the blonde's straight-faced sarcasm, he propped himself up on his elbows and looked up to meet the woman's awaiting azure stare, admitting, "It hurts every now and then. It's healing. Nothing to worry about, really."

"Sorry about that," Her unyielding look eased as she nodded towards the brunet's wounded thigh and held her hand out to aid him in standing.

Chuck gave her an amiable smile, bringing himself up without Sarah's assistance. "Occupational hazard."

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><p><em>First-class operation<em>. Bryce stepped out of the black Volvo S80 and whistled as he beheld the three story office building – its white brick front and tall windows contributed to its modern appeal and aided in its façade as a security company. _What did Chuck do to get this set-up? _He turned to the indifferent operative whom identified herself as his former friend's partner. _I wonder if he's gotten with her? Doesn't seem like his type though._

Sensing that she had become the subject of the accompanying agent's scrutiny, Forrest arched her brow at Larkin whom, in response, flashed a charismatic smile at her. _Cocky ass_, she remarked as the man was observably attempting to exploit his well-endowed qualities to gain her favor, instigating her to consider him abhorrent as she wordlessly proceeded inside the building.

_Everything seems new. Are there any more agents posted around here? It must be just Chuck and Forrest, _Bryce regarded the company's lack of 'employees' whilst he kept pace with the woman unaffected by his charm as she led him down a hall and into a meeting room comparably vacant as the rest of the facility. "LEOS Inc."

"A private security company acting as a front for the CIA's newly funded base here in LA – codename Castle." Forrest closed the door behind them and moved towards the conference table, sliding her hand along its underside before an indistinct click sounded, closely followed by a hidden keypad revealing itself. "Walker arrived beforehand to view the facility herself."

"I slept in." Bryce confessed, watching as the dour operative swiftly inputted a sequence of numbers that amalgamated into the appropriate PIN, initiating the long table to escalate to some extent before it slid away from them to expose a previously concealed staircase. _Hidden basement?_

"After you." Forrest slightly motioned her head towards the stairs as Larkin promptly complied with her statement.

* * *

><p>"Omaha Project… Weren't we a part of it?" Graham heard Agent Walker query whilst recognition appeared to have reached her partner as somberness overtook the man's expression.<p>

_No doubt he remembers the same operation he tried to prevent Bartowski from getting recruited into. _Inwardly shaking his head, the CIA Director responded, "Indeed. Agent Bartowski as well, though his experience was rather… dissimilar to yours."

"How so?" Bryce questioned firmly, glancing at said operative sitting at the conference table with trained impassivity, anticipating the worst had happened to Chuck, _Did they brainwash him? No, no. They couldn't have, could they? It'd be immoral. Even so…_

"You two were merely candidates to become the Human Intersect."

"Intersect…" The blonde repeated the term, recalling the stories she had heard of an alleged government server that held an immeasurable amount of encoded data that connected to every intelligence agency in the United States – though she had always dismissed them as rumors. "You mean the supercomputer filled with government secrets?" At Graham's nod of confirmation, her brows furrowed somewhat as she processed the information.

Bryce, taking a step closer towards the monitor, glared at his superior, "What do you mean Human Intersect?" _It can't… Chuck can't be… _

He evoked the time he had confronted Flemming about Chuck's recruitment into the Omaha Project. _"Keywords in his essay responses correlated with 98% of the subliminal images in the exam… The agency is not going to let go of a recruit this promising."_

"Bartowski is the Human Intersect." Forrest forthrightly disclosed to the two other agents in the room, hands behind her back as she stood erect behind her partner's seat. "He's undergone the same training at Langley and more."

"Indeed." Graham acknowledged the spoken truth, noting that it had quieted Walker and Larkin into contemplation, prior to returning his attention to the job he planned to assign to the four operatives.

"Donovan Reynolds – this man has gone through more aliases than you all combined." With the CIA Director's statement, numerous false ID photos of a very tan, forty-something man popped onto the screen along with his profile. "Several months ago, he started up a successful drug cartel there in LA. Ordinarily, we would leave this investigation for the DEA since the man isn't exactly our target, but…

"Intelligence suggests that Reynolds has recently involved himself in the arms smuggling business as well – his first client: James Welling." A family photo of a middle-aged businessman with his wife and daughter appeared on the monitor, initiating imbedded data to surface from Chuck's unconscious.

_A rack of clothing_

_James Welling_

_Founder and CEO of Welling Industries, a top Fortune 500 company_

_Spouse of Emi Welling, __née Shinoda_

_Heavily tied to the Japanese mafia due to wife's background_

_A rack of clothing_

Chuck visibly winced, breaking his inexpressive mien; his head throbbed uncomfortably more than usual as he felt another flash commence.

_A rooftop greenhouse_

_Ava Welling_

_Born May 8__th__, 1983 to the illustrious couple James and Emi Welling_

_Graduated Yale University as valedictorian, majoring in International Relations, at age 20_

_Tabloids claiming the latest word of her love life_

_Under CIA surveillance for possible recruitment_

_A rooftop greenhouse_

"I want you to find out what he's bringing in for Welling and act accordingly – James Welling runs in some very powerful circles. I want Reynolds apprehended, not killed; understand? He's needed for questioning." Unaware of Bartowski's flash, Graham casted a glare at Larkin before adding, "This will be your first mission as a team. Don't make me regret it."

"So…" Bryce looked to the seated Human Intersect, oblivious to the pained expression the man exhibited seconds earlier before he regained his composure, "What's the plan?"

Grunting, Forrest answered for her partner, "Searched for when Welling's next shipment comes in." A tap on the keyboard elicited the results of the hard-faced blonde's search to display on the computer monitor. "Port of Long Beach. 1800 hours. We can start there."

"We've got plenty of time till then." Bryce offhandedly stated, "What are we supposed to do when we get there?"

Forrest promptly retorted, "What else than to take him in and question him." Her gaze fell to the weapons room as she thought longingly, _Hopefully, there'll be firefight_.

* * *

><p><strong>1758 Hours<strong>

**Port of Long Beach**

**Long Beach, California**

"What do you mean '_stay in the car'_?" Sarah frowned, arms crossed, as she spun her seat around to glower at the man in response to his suggestion.

Chuck raised his hands as an attempt to hastily mollify the blonde, "I didn't say that. Did I say that? I didn't say that." Met with the agent's icy stare augmented by her brilliant blue eyes, he continued, "We need cover from behind. And you can do that." He held the sniper rifle out to Sarah, remarking the contusions the woman had acquired from the torture she had endured back in Paris that stained her otherwise flawless skin. _She'll be safer out of sight as well._

_What is he thinking? _She pushed the proffered sniper rifle away from her, snapping, "I'm capable of taking care of myself." _Does he think I'm too fragile or something? I can do my job just fine._

"Sorry." Chuck acquiesced to her decision, inwardly chiding himself for voicing his concern over the blonde's well-being when the woman was an expertly trained agent who was more than capable of minding herself prior to hearing his partner in his earpiece, updating him, "Reynolds and his men are here. And they're packing some heavy guns. Let's do this."

He mentally sighed as Forrest's last statement sounded a little bit too eager for him as thoughts of his partner going trigger-happy on the smugglers came to mind. He turned to Sarah and shrugged, "Well, you heard Forrest."

* * *

><p>The small paths in-between the long rows of cargo permitted Bryce to move throughout the freighter without detection, his Heckler &amp; Koch USP semi-automatic pistol at hand as he spotted Donovan Reynolds angrily barking orders at his men to open one of the containers.<p>

"Not that one, you idiots. Look where I'm pointing at. Yes! Finally, yes, that one!"

Perceiving the sound of a suppressed shot, he deduced the hit as Forrest's before he followed in suit, firing at several of Reynolds' distracted goons. _Three down, _he moved back to his cover just as the smugglers launched their reprisal, marked by several bullets whizzing through the space his head had previously occupied.

Sarah ran from one shipment container to the next, shooting at their adversaries whenever she came out into the open. Diving to her cover in time to evade the barrage of bullets, she warned the others, "They have back up!"

"Bartowski, where are you?" Forrest growled through the piercing clanging of heavy gunfire raining against metal in the background of her side of the communications link.

"On your six." Chuck replied, adroitly sedating a looming hostile with the rapid pull of his tranq gun's trigger, and moved to cover his partner's back.

"Reynolds is getting away!" Sarah announced as she dispatched a smuggler whom came too close for comfort, "I'm going after him."

Delivering a jab to one of the remaining smugglers' solar plexus, Chuck took advantage of the man's disorientation and shot him in the thigh with his tranq; he recognized Sarah's form in the darkness as the blonde operative moved across the deck of the cargo ship, skulking behind the shadows of the shipments, and he trailed after her, "I'm right behind you, Sarah."

"We'll finish of the rest. Make sure Reynolds doesn't get away." Forrest instructed, elbowing a smuggler, who made the foolish decision to sneak up behind her, in the face prior to kneeing him in the groin.

* * *

><p>Aiming his pistol behind him, Donovan Reynolds gave off several warning shots, threatening his pursuers that he was ready and willing to shoot. He had the package and all he had left to do now was to escape, so he could later deliver the hefty metal container to his client.<p>

Unfortunately for the smuggler, fate – in the form of a stunning blonde – had other plans as the operative shot at his own weapon, effortlessly disarming him as she approached.

"You're not going anywhere, Reynolds." Sarah said, brandishing a pair of plastic handcuffs from her pocket and applying them to the frightened smuggler.

Chuck proceeded to the woman's side, pleased that they had successfully arrested Reynolds. _What the… _Stricken by surprise, he stumbled back as his vision became impaired, images appearing behind his eyelids, information rising from his subconscious.

_A bunch of fortune cookies_

_An emerald ring similar to the one Reynolds wore_

_A blueprint of the ring and its function as a disguised USB drive_

_A bunch of fortune cookies_

Groaning, Chuck clutched his head tightly at the unbearable pressure he was experiencing that caused him to crumple to his knees. "Agh!"

The agonized moan from her colleague alerted Sarah; she spun around from handling the smuggler and ran to the brunet's side, "Chuck! Are you okay? What's wrong?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Please do review, comment, etc.

I greatly appreciate all the support!


	11. Chuck Versus The Purple Smoke

Sorry, I took so long! I'll try and update more frequently, but I'm not sure if that's possible with my present schedule.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Chuck, otherwise they'd be making a movie

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chuck Versus The Purple Smoke<strong>_

**1 January 2006**

**1827 Hours**

**Port of Long Beach**

**Long Beach, California**

Streams of images, each unrelated to its precursor, inundated the Human Intersect's consciousness, unrelenting as the protracted flash displayed no indication of its end. Mercifully, however, it did, leaving Chuck Bartowski on his knees as the inexorable compression he suffered mere seconds ago gradually dissipated.

"Chuck, what happened?" Sarah asked as she took the operative's well-being into careful consideration, minding after him as Chuck wearily stood to his full height, several inches taller than her.

Exhaling slowly, his eyes closed as afterimages played on the back of his eyelids, Chuck replied quietly enough for only the blonde agent to hear, "Just a flash. Grab Reynolds' ring – it's a USB."

The brunet said nothing more as he retrieved his tranq gun from where he had dropped it during his abnormally lengthy flash. _What's going on? Why are my flashes becoming more and more painful? _He clenched his jaw, willing himself to ignore the residual throbbing. _The flash I had about Reynolds' ring was followed by more pictures but no data… _

"We've got a nice cold cell waiting for you, Reynolds." Forrest acknowledged the apprehended smuggler with an indistinct trace of contentment playing on her features as she approached the agents who had caught him, "Walker, Carmichael, good job."

"Nice work, team." Bryce smiled pleasantly, looking to Chuck for an amiable response and obtaining none as the taller operative replied with silence as the man wordlessly followed after Sarah and Forrest.

* * *

><p><strong>1910 Hours<strong>

**LEOS Inc.**

**Los Angeles, California**

Upon their return to Castle, the team divided into two groups: Sarah and Bryce remained in the base's primary control center whilst Forrest and Chuck conducted their captive into one of the detention cells.

"Something wrong, Bartowski?" Forrest queried once Reynolds was appropriately situated in a holding cell and out-of-earshot. Standing beside the security lock console, the man she had addressed finalized applying security measures to ensure the smuggler stayed incarcerated. _He's been quiet since the ride back. _

"Nothing some aspirin can't fix," Chuck responded, downgrading his concern towards his increasingly discomforting flashes. _It's probably nothing. I'll get better in a couple days or so. Maybe I'm sleep-deprived – that's it. I mean, I haven't really gotten the chance to relax since I returned home._

A few seconds of unconvinced scrutiny from his hard-faced partner were followed by the woman's doubtful reception to his reply as she proceeded to head back to the main part of Castle, "If you say so… I noticed you were acting rather cold towards Larkin."

Chuck frowned at the observation, walking in pace with Forrest, "You should know. You did read my file right?"

"What would have I gotten out of reading your file?"

"He got me kicked out of Stanford," Chuck's voice was bitter as he said it. "We didn't exactly leave on good terms."

Forrest quirked her brow as if she was unaware of the relationship between Bartowski and Larkin that had turned sour the same year her partner had been recruited into the Omaha Project. She had read Bartowski's file frequently enough during the period she had been assigned to train him that it was committed to her memory – it was rare for him to talk of it though. "Never thought you'd be one to hold a grudge."

"I'm not. I just can't find myself to trust him," the brunet retorted as the dull ache from earlier spiked enough for him to wince.

Discerning her partner's customary display of discomfort in the form of his clenched jaw, Forrest's attention was caught as she asked, "You alrig—"

A loud alarm rang throughout Castle as the lights dimmed slightly to allocate the necessary power where it was needed elsewhere, preventing the blonde operative from completing her query.

Without further thought, Chuck and Forrest ran down the hall towards the center of the base, weapons drawn and held at their side. They found themselves locked out by the bulletproof glass door, confining them to the hall as they viewed the other side of the door.

Forrest growled as she observed the purple smoke cloud the room, obscuring anyone inside. "Walker and Larkin, they're in there."

"Castle's defense system has already contained the area and it's venting the gas right now," Chuck stated as he impatiently waited for the all of the base's safety procedures to be dealt with. _Come on, come on… They're going to be okay. Please let them be okay. _The haze of heliotrope was progressively expelled by the ventilation system to finally reveal two coughing-but-very-much-alive agents.

The moment the glass door slid aside, sanctioning their entry into the previously contaminated space, Forrest advanced towards the source of the mauve smog, a bulky metal container that sat ajar atop the table in front of a seated, purple-faced Larkin. _Why am I not surprised? _"What the hell did you do?"

"Opened it." Bryce coughed, releasing sprays of violet as he did so.

"Clearly," Chuck remarked as he headed straight towards the nearest computer terminal. "It's obvious what happened here."

Standing several feet away from her partner, enough distance that she was not as affected and purple-coated as Bryce, Sarah sneezed and pinched the bridge of her nose, "I tried to stop him."

"Do you have any idea how rash that was?" Forrest snarled at the seated operative, "You could've gotten yourself and Walker killed."

"Keywords: Could have." Bryce gave an imprudent smile, running his fingers through his hair, which was stained from the colored smoke. "We're obviously fine."

"It was a non-toxic purple colorant," Chuck reiterated the results of the defense system's analysis on the foreign contaminant. "You're lucky."

Crossing her arms, Forrest nodded at the open package, "Find anything that was worth the risk?" _Idiot._

Bryce searched the box, only to find a piece of paper with a strange, wide diamond-shaped emblem, and said more to himself than anyone else, "What is this?"

Recognizing the symbol, Sarah replied, "I've seen that insignia before." She moved towards the workstation Chuck had been using as the taller brunet stepped aside for her to elucidate them on her findings; with her fingers moving deftly across the keyboard, she directed several windows to appear on the monitors of the large-scale communications grid. "These are documented dealings between Reynolds and his clients."

The identities of the smuggler's numerous clients were all accumulated into a list, which swiftly scrolled up each screen in the room prior to halting abruptly as a single name was highlighted from the rest: Shinobu Tsukasa.

_A scenic photo of Niagara Falls_

_Shinobu Tsukasa – born as Kenichi Shinoda_

_Early 1970s: Incarcerated for 13 years due to murdering a rival crime boss with a katana_

_Noted as possible successor to Yamaguchi-gumi, Japan's largest yakuza organization_

_Indirectly connected to various murders and crimes_

_A scenic photo of Niagara Falls_

Placing a hand on his head as an attempt to palliate the throbbing headache that had accompanied his flash, Chuck disclosed the encoded data that emerged from his subconscious, "Shinobu Tsukasa. His real name is Kenichi Shinoda. He's part of the largest criminal organization, or yakuza, in all of Japan – the Yamaguchi-gumi."

"Not just part of the Yamaguchi-gumi," the blonde woman beside him tapped a key on the terminal, prompting several windows pertaining to Shinobu Tsukasa/Kenichi Shinoda to appear on the monitors. Sarah continued, "He took control of the organization last year on July. Last month, he was sentenced for six years in prison for gun possession."

"So, this emblem is the Yamaguchi-gumi's." Bryce thought aloud as he compared the symbol on the paper he held to the crest presently displayed on the screen along with the yakuza leader's profile. "Why would this be in the package for Welling?"

"I know one way to find out," Forrest stated as she observed the live video feed of Reynolds in his cell – the spray-tanned man was pacing in the small space. _Let's see how fast this orange will talk._

* * *

><p>Less than ten minutes had passed before Forrest formidably walked into the control center from the interrogation room, a hand held blow torch in her possession. "It's a bit ironic how much Reynolds was scared off by a little heat, considering how much time he spends at tanning salons."<p>

"What'd he say?" asked Bryce who was now rid of the purple colorant for the most part, leaving only subdued remnants of the powder on the edges of his face.

Forrest replied, "From what he had found out, Tsukasa had managed to convince Welling to ship weapons to the Yamaguchi-gumi. Welling made a deal with Reynolds to do so. But this was couple months back though. Before Tsukasa's arrest.

"I think Welling heard that Tsukasa got arrested and assumed that their arrangement would be canceled because of it, or at least, delayed. The package with the colorant and the emblem was to remind Welling that their deal is still on."

"Well, we intercepted the package. Welling has no idea that Tsukasa is waiting for those weapons," Chuck joined the conversation, his headache subsiding after ingesting some aspirin.

"Tsukasa will think that Welling screwed him over," said Bryce as he stared intently at one of the monitors that displayed a candid black-and-white photo of the Yamaguchi-gumi leader walking out to an unknown destination. The man wore a trim suit with his hair cropped short; his most distinguishable features were his pencil-thin mustache and hardened facial expression. "What's the plan?"

"We need to set up a security measure – Tsukasa is sure to respond violently once he comes to think that he's been 'screwed over,'" Forrest stated, already working at a nearby terminal to locate Welling's whereabouts.

"How do you know he'll act to this?" Bryce queried.

"The man killed a rival crime boss with a sword," answered Chuck. "I really doubt he's calmed down since then."

* * *

><p><strong>4 January 2006<strong>

**1815 Hours**

**Welling Industries – Corporate Headquarters**

**Los Angeles, California**

The sun had already set, blanketing the sky with nightfall, only to be brightly illuminated by the city's active populace. Situated downtown and largely indistinguishable from its contiguous counterparts, one of the sleek high-rises is merely differentiated from the rest as the corporate building of Welling Industries.

Three days had passed since the night of the Heliotrope Haze – the same night Forrest had resolved that they were to keep watch on Welling and his family as a precaution to their vulnerability to whatever plan the Yamaguchi-gumi leader had devised as reprisal for the betrayal he believed had occurred.

"Hey," greeted Chuck as he entered the black Porsche Cayman S deliberately parked across the street from Welling Industries' company building.

Noting the large paper bag the man carried, Sarah asked, "Where have you been? You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago." _This is the first time we've paired up for a stakeout; usually, it's me and Bryce while he sticks with Forrest._

"Prepare for an unforgettable stakeout because I got us…" Chuck began as he reached into the brown bag to retrieve two white Chinese takeout boxes and handed one to his partner for the night, "Sizzling Shrimp! Ta-dah!"

Smiling at the brunet's presentation of their dinner, Sarah imitated the man whom eagerly began to consume the contents of his box as she opened hers and began to eat.

Chuck had paused, waiting as the striking woman beside him tasted sizzling shrimp for the first time, her response to the new experience clearly evident on her features as her eyes closed and a soft moan escaped her as an effect of what he and Morgan liked to call 'Sizzling Shrimp bliss.'

"This is delicious!" Sarah enthused as she ate with more fervor.

Grinning, Chuck agreed, "I know, right? But, wait, this is just part numero uno of tonight's stakeout agenda."

"What's number two?" asked Sarah, the corners of her lips quirking upward as a result of Chuck's infectious smile.

"Well," Chuck stated as he set down his sizzling shrimp to search his pockets for his iPod, "Do you like music?"

"Uh, I guess."

Raising a brow, Chuck repeated, "You guess?" He was met with a silent shrug from the blonde beside him, prompting him to shake his head in disbelief, "Oh, my gosh… oh, my gosh."

Sarah chuckled at the man's incredulity towards her musical deprivation, "I don't listen to music."

"We need to fix that," Chuck determined as he scanned the songs he had in his iPod before finally making his decision, "You'll like this. Trust me."

Watching as the brunet handed her an earbud headphone to pop in her ear as he placed the other in his, Sarah followed in suit.

Silence fell in the car as the gradual beating of drums initiated the song ever so slowly and brilliantly that by the time the vocals came on, Chuck had his eyes closed as he nodded his head along with the music, producing a smile from Sarah whom found his deep immersion to the song endearing.

Before long, the song came to its end. Opening his eyes to see how Sarah reacted to his choice of music, Chuck was surprised to find her looking at him, occasioning to him returning the smile she wore.

"I like it," affirmed Sarah, looking at the iPod that was placed between them for the name of the song. "Open Your Arms by Editors?"

"Yeah," responded Chuck. "I can make you a mix CD if you want."

Smiling once more, Sarah replied, "That'd be great."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> As always, thank you for reading!

Criticisms, reviews, comments, etc. are welcome! And, thanks for being patient with me!


	12. Chuck Versus The Ski Mask

I had some free time, so here's another chapter!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Chuck.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chuck Versus The Ski Mask<strong>_

**4 January 2006**

**1900 Hours**

**LEOS Inc.**

**Los Angeles, California**

"What's the status on your assignment?"

Forrest stood straight and looked onto the wide array of monitors in front of her – the main screen displayed her superior, CIA Director Langston Graham, awaiting her update regarding the mission. "Presently, Reynolds is under our custody here in Castle. We've got round-the-clock surveillance on Welling and his family as a preemptive measure. Bartowski and I took the first night's watch, Larkin and Walker were last night's, and Bartowski is with Walker for tonight's."

"Speaking of your squadmates," began Graham, his mien devoid of anything other than cool calculation. "I want an assessment on the interaction amongst the team. Tell me who works well with whom out in the field and your thoughts on each of them. Graham, out." With that concluding statement, the video conference ceased, returning the CIA emblem back onto the screen to indicate the dormant state of the monitor.

_An assessment?_ Forrest contemplated the task she was had been instructed with, intrigued as to why the CIA Director required a review of her fellow operatives.

* * *

><p><strong>2120 Hours<strong>

**Welling Industries – Corporate Headquarters**

**Los Angeles, California**

Leaning forward a bit from her seat, arms high above her head, Sarah stretched to mollify her stiffening muscles. She had been in her car for far too long; hours of doing nothing but surveillance were always tedious and lengthy. It, unquestionably, was not one of the finer points of being a spy, but she was not one to complain as she sat there, staring at the laptop on her dashboard that displayed multiple security camera feeds of the Welling Industries' building across the street. At least she had company.

"How does the Intersect work?" said Sarah, promptly acquiring the attention of the brunet seated beside her.

"Well," Chuck took a second to respond, "First, something or someone will trigger it. Then, these pictures encoded with data flash through my mind, flooding my head with information on whatever initiated the flash before it stops and I snap back to consciousness."

Remembering how pained the Human Intersect had been during what she deduced as a flash at the Port of Long Beach, Sarah tilted her head inquisitively, "Are all your – flashes, right? – Are they typically uncomfortable?"

"Not until recently," responded Chuck before asking, "So, seen any good movies lately?"

Inwardly displeased at the sudden change of topic, Sarah replied, "I don't, uh, watch movies."

"Not even Star Wars?"

"Star what?"

"Dune?"

"There's a movie about sand dunes?"

"Back to the Future?"

"Uh, no."

"Great Scott! First, music – now, movies?" Chuck shook his head in mock disappointment, "Come on, Sarah. Work with me here!" An easy smile emerged on his face as he said, "Seriously, we should have a movie night. You've been deprived of so many great films!"

Amused, Sarah raised her brow, "A movie night?"

"Yeah. You, me, and Forrest," Chuck said before adding, "…And Bryce can come too. What do you think?"

The brunet's affable demeanor was uncommon in the clandestine business; it was even rarer to realize that the man was sincere about his friendship. Chuck had done nothing to earn her distrust – in fact, most of the things he did had proven that he was worthy of the opposite despite the short period of time they knew each other.

"Sarah?" Chuck tilted his head as he tried to gain the blonde's attention. "You there?"

With the beginnings of a smile on her lips, Sarah replied, "I'll think about it."

* * *

><p>"Stop!" A lone security guard shouted intermittently as he requested for backup through his walkie-talkie.<p>

Less than a few minutes earlier, he had been languidly making his customary rounds on the twenty-third of the thirty floors that comprised the Welling Industries' corporate headquarters. He had stopped to regard the view of the late downtown Los Angeles skyline when he heard a crash from one of the nearby offices – one he knew should have been unoccupied by that time of night. Driven by his duty to provide protection over the premises, the night watchman fumbled with his keys before he cautiously unlocked the room where the noise had originated from and opened it with vigilance.

The office space was relatively well-kept – but, that was prior to a figure whose identity was shrouded by a ski mask ramming him aside and leaving him befuddled on the floor as the intruder bolted out the door. As he got up, he became aware of the detached ventilation cover that rested on the floor directly below the opening where it should have been attached.

_Shit_, thought the guard before he dashed after the trespasser.

Presently, the security guard unrelented in his pursuit despite his arduous panting which was a consequence of his sedentary lifestyle and habitual consumption of junk food.

The intruder was several yards ahead of him, undoubtedly in better shape than he was as the individual clad entirely in black darted towards the fire escape, rushing down three steps at a time.

The night watchman repeated, "Stop!"

The trespasser responded with silence before leaving the stairs for the door that opened to the twentieth floor.

"Eckhart," said the guard into his walkie-talkie through labored breathing, "The intruder just went to your floor. Be on the lookout."

"Copy that. I think I see the gu—" The line stopped midsentence. _Something happened to Eckhart._

* * *

><p>Gun drawn and held at her side, Sarah had ran into the company building after sighting a strange figure running through the halls of the twenty-third floor on the security camera feeds. She had directed Chuck to stay in her car and keep her notified on the intruder's progress within the building through the ear comms.<p>

She heard the brunet update her in her ear piece, "The guy just incapacitated a guard on the twentieth floor. It looks like he's going to one of the offices, looking for something."

"Chuck, can you make sure to erase any footage of me on the security cameras?" asked Sarah as she entered the elevator, hoping it would swiftly transport her to the floor the trespasser was currently on.

"On it. Oh, and another guard just got to the twentieth floor via the fire escape. He's the same one who was chasing our guy in black earlier on the twenty-third floor."

"All right."

"Mr. Ski Mask moved to another office, one on the far side of the floor. The guard is closing in on his location."

With a ding, the elevator doors slid apart, permitting Sarah to pass into the twentieth floor. The hall provided no cover as she snuck down it, alert and vigilant. She passed by an unconscious form of a security guard, most likely the one Chuck had updated her on.

"Put your hands up in the air!" She heard a man order from somewhere ahead of her; she was close. The man's anxiety towards wielding a weapon was palpable in his voice as he warned, "I w-will shoot!"

Chuck alerted her of the current situation, "The security guard is armed and has the guy cornered."

What sounded like a loud strike resounded from the office that Sarah had determined as the room that the security guard and the trespasser were in.

"Okay, forget what I said earlier. The masked burglar roundhouse kicked the guard in the face. Complete and total knockout."

The disguised intruder hurried out of the room, seemingly with nothing in their possession, oblivious to the blonde woman hidden in the dim hall behind him whom had her S&W pistol trained on the fleeing individual.

Without a word, Sarah pulled the trigger – her shot had grazed the trespasser on his left arm, ripping a gash onto the black turtleneck sweater the man wore. The man hissed an expletive whilst he clutched his injury and ran away from his unseen attacker prior to entering the elevator.

The elevator doors closed before Sarah could do anything to prevent it. _Damn it_, she thought. "Chuck, can y—"

"Already on it, Sarah," replied the agent on the other side of the comm link without missing a beat, "I got the elevator stopped on halfway down the nineteenth floor. You better hurry."

"Thanks, Chuck," she said as she dashed for the stairs, tearing down several steps at a time to make it to the level below.

The nineteenth floor had the same essential layout as the floor above it and most likely the rest of the corporate building as well, save for the bottom floor and possibly the CEO office. As Sarah found herself facing the elevator doors, she asked, "Chuck, can you open the doors somehow?"

For a brief second, there was a lack of response from her fellow operative before the elevator doors began to separate, revealing the elevator and how it had been able to progress halfway down to the floor below prior to Chuck's interference. There was, unfortunately, no sign of the masked intruder.

"He's not here."

"What? He's there. I can see him leaning against the wall," argued the brunet she imagined was sitting in her Porsche, very confused.

"He's gone, Chuck," repeated Sarah as she examined the open hatch on the elevator's ceiling, "He must've somehow managed to get the security feed to replay that recording of him while he escaped through hatch on the roof of the elevator."

* * *

><p><strong>5 January 2006<strong>

**0150 Hours**

**LEOS Inc.**

**Los Angeles, California**

Forrest said inquisitively, "What are you two doing back here? You need to keep watch on–"

"We made sure Welling got back home safe before coming here," answered Chuck before taking a seat beside his stern-faced partner, "There was a break-in at Welling Industries."

"What?" Forrest growled, her brows furrowing as her expression more than suggested her demand for more information on the topic.

Sarah folded her arms in front of her chest, "The LAPD is still investigating, and any findings right now are inconclusive. The man went nowhere near Welling for it to be an assassination attempt – it seemed like he was looking for something but he didn't appear to have taken anything when I shot at him."

"You shot him?" Forrest arched an eyebrow at the standing operative.

"It was just a graze," defended Sarah, instigating Chuck to shake his head.

"Like how it was _just_ a graze when you shot at me on the Hotel Du Louvre rooftop," he remarked jokingly as he held no hard feelings over the incident.

Sarah frowned slightly, though a hint of a smile had begun to form on her face, "I said I was sorry."

"Yeah, yeah," replied the brunet, "Doesn't change the fact that you crippled me."

Rolling her eyes, Sarah smiled, "Don't be such a wimp, Carmichael."

"Hey," Bryce met the gathered team with a smile and well-rehearsed charm as he entered the space from out of nowhere, "Team meeting or something?"

"Bryce, what are you still doing here?" inquired Sarah, finding it strange for her partner to be at Castle so early in the morning – he had a tendency to sleep in whenever he could.

"Felt like paying Forrest a visit is all, babe."

The agent's response prompted Forrest to scowl in dismissal of the statement, "More like annoy me to death." She turned to Walker and Bartowski, "Larkin came an hour ago."

As Sarah relayed what had transpired at the corporate headquarters of Welling Industries to her partner, Forrest turned to the brunet seated beside her, "What do you think we should do?"

"I'm not sure," Chuck leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table in front of him as he covered his face with his hands, blocking the light as he began to feel pressure budding in his head for some unknown reason – a start of another headache, no doubt.

"We need to get closer to the Wellings," stated Bryce once he had heard everything concerning the recent events, "Our chances of protecting them will get better if we're closer to them. It's obvious that the stakeouts aren't doing anything to help. Tonight is proof of that."

Chuck, gradually lowering his hands from his face, said, "What, then, do you suggest?"

"LEOS Inc. is a security company, and I'd have to say that the break-in is a great opportunity for us."

* * *

><p><strong>1224 Hours<strong>

**Café Del Sol**

**Los Angeles, California**

The wintry breeze from that morning had ceased, allowing the sun to exude its warmth which was happily received by the urbanites as a break from the protracted winter climate that the city of Los Angeles and its surrounding area had been experiencing for the past few weeks or so.

Situated on a corner lot in downtown Los Angeles and within reasonable distance of several major businesses in its vicinity as well as being famed for its tasteful menu and serene atmosphere, making it a sort of retreat from the bustling, fast-paced life in the city, it was unsurprising that Café Del Sol was regularly frequented by the founder of Welling Industries.

It was there at the café that Bryce had set up a meeting with the endangered CEO, under the guise of a representative for LEOS Inc. The plan was simple: he was to appeal to the expected concern that James Welling was experiencing subsequent the recent break-in and succeed in getting LEOS Inc. contracted to take charge in the fortification of the security at the Fortune 500 Company. From there, the team would be able to keep a close watch on the businessman and any suspicious activity he got himself in. _This is going to be easy_, reckoned Bryce as he reached for the glass of ice water that the waitress had placed on the table for him earlier, faintly wincing as his left arm stung when he extended it. _Welling was all too willing to set up this meeting to discuss his company's security._

"Bruce Anderson?" A bespectacled middle-aged man with dark hair peppered with grey inquired, unsure whether the waitress had directed him to the wrong seat or the security company representative he scheduled to meet was indeed the young, aesthetically endowed young man whom sat before him.

Acknowledging the older businessman, Bryce stood and held his hand out to the CEO, shaking it firmly as he flashed his well-rehearsed plastic smile, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Welling."

"And you as well," said Welling before joining the younger man at the table. "Do tell me about your company. Your call was the first time I've ever heard of LEOS Inc."

"I see," Bryce said, understandingly, "LEOS Inc. is a private security firm that was founded in 2003. Despite our company's establishment being rather recent, your safety along with your company's is guaranteed. Each of our employees has gone through the company's specialized defense training, which rivals the complex regimen of the Navy SEALs," Bryce paused as he retrieved a large organized portfolio from his briefcase, "These are some of the company's previous clients – as you can see, LEOS Inc. has been reasonably busy since its founding."

The record was extensive as well as simultaneously being entirely fictional and believable; it also listed the contact information of the various clientele of the security company's past, all of which, if checked by the older of the two seated men, led to a secure line back at Castle that the rest of the team had been appointed to manage.

"Indeed," replied the man, his glasses balanced on the tip of his nose as he regarded the list, discernibly impressed by the contents of the file. "Do you mind giving me a copy of this so I can—"

Without hesitation, Bryce smiled at the predicted response, "Go right ahead."

* * *

><p><strong>1310 Hours<strong>

**LEOS Inc.**

**Los Angeles, California**

Setting down the phone she had been speaking into mere seconds ago with the CEO of Welling Industries, a man whom had bombarded her with questions about the service that LEOS Inc. had provided her faux computer company till he was thoroughly satisfied, Forrest marginally relaxed into her seat, thinking aloud, "Looks like Larkin is good for something after all."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! Do review! I like hearing what everyone has to say.

Also, I've written three pages of the next chapter already, so hooray for being a bit ahead of schedule!

Have a good weekend.


	13. Chuck Versus The Defector

I'm not sure if people are still interested in reading Carmichael, but here's a new chapter!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the television show Chuck.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chuck Versus The Defector<strong>_

**13 January 2006**

**2255 Hours**

**Figueroa Hotel – Terrace & Pool**

**Los Angeles, California**

An intoxicatingly sweet aroma arose from the abundance of floral growth that encompassed the open terrace and tinged the late night air while an assortment of exotic lanterns were positioned throughout the space, altogether emitting a warm illumination that contrasted against the evening sky.

A live band provided an upbeat instrumental complement to the festivity's foreign ambience beside the pool, where vivid flower petals were strewn across its clear turquoise surface as lotus-patterned tiles adorned its floor, situated at the center of the ornamented terrace. Guests comprising of Welling Industries' personnel laughed and danced as they partook in the carousal, reveling in the successful launch of the company's latest technological breakthrough.

A little more than a week had elapsed since LEOS Inc. had been tasked to provide protection for Welling Industries and more importantly, its CEO and his family.

Three days after being commissioned, Forrest had received intelligence from Reynolds' communications network – which she had Chuck hack upon the smuggler's capture – of a 'defected' yakuza member expected to arrive in Los Angeles sometime that week, naturally putting the entire clandestine squad on alert.

Strangely enough, the week had gone by without any incident so far, affecting the team to feel all the more trepidation towards the present fête.

Amidst the gaiety, the hotel event team, each member dressed fittingly apropos the Figueroa Hotel's colorfully rich theme, worked efficiently as they waited on the off duty businessmen and women, appearing as figures clad in strikingly vibrant tunics that evoked a distant land.

Chuck mentally sighed and refilled the drink of a particularly boisterous guest, operating under his cover as a part of the wait staff. Two hours had passed since the party had begun without a hitch, and nothing had occurred to make the Human Intersect believe otherwise. _Hopefully, it'll stay this way_.

Tumultuous cheer erupted from the bacchanalians, occasioning the waitron to turn his head and view the crowd whilst he continued to pour liquor into a carouser's glass, he froze with his mouth agape as he beheld the sight before him.

A multitude of colors in the form of entertainers entered the festivity, dancing through the mass of revelers and enticing several of them to join them as the band increased the tempo of the song they had been playing to accompany the lively arrival.

Garbed in a fitted bra and skirt, both elaborately decorated with beads, sequins, and embroidery that coordinated well with the ruby red cloth, a mesmerizingly beauteous dancer moved towards him, her actions effortlessly seductive as her half-lidded cerulean blue gaze fixed on his whilst her hips swayed oh so alluringly.

Chuck unconsciously gulped as she appeared to approach him, the distance between them rapidly decreasing with each step she took. His thoughts were instantly muddled into incoherent nonsense, reminding him of their initial meeting as he became aware of the loud, erratic beating that emanated from his chest.

Sarah paused beside him, leaning in close enough that her warm breath tickled his ear when she spoke, "You're drooling, Chuck."

He moved his head to face her, only to realize that she had continued past him; her presence ephemeral as she interacted with the mirthful guests, acting out her role as one of the performers. She turned once to look at him, a playful grin on her face, prior to resuming her circulation through the throng of white-collar workers.

Shaking his head at her teasing, Chuck smiled to himself, pleased that the resplendent agent was comfortable enough around him that a sort of good-humored banter had developed between them. _I'll get her back for that._

* * *

><p>Forrest growled her frustration, earning her a frightened yelp from a nearby guest, as she patrolled the perimeter of the social event. She hated parties – the guests were always unknowns and the risk of hitting a civilian during a firefight was high. <em>If only I can stuff Welling and his family in a bunker and wait it out, this'd be a lot simpler. <em>

A firm believer of Murphy's Law, the straitlaced blonde tended to lessen her apprehension in regard to the amount of improbabilities becoming feasible by studying the minutiae of each and every mission she was to participate in, and usually, it would work in terms of reducing her unease.

Unfortunately, there was not enough information on the incoming yakuza to appease her about her current assignment, leaving her unsatisfied with her lack of knowledge.

She scanned the terrace, espying Larkin where he stood alongside Welling, appearing wholly bored with his post as the CEO's personal security escort, whilst his partner/girlfriend masqueraded as a belly dancer, being the opposite of inconspicuous in terms of her attire and producing a sigh from Forrest as she recalled the skimpy outfits she personally had to wear in the past and the others she'd most likely have to sport in the future.

As her regard fell upon Bartowski posing as one of the many servers working the event, her brows furrowed as she discerned the expression the man held – his jaw was marginally clenched, his nostrils were flared imperceptibly, and his eyes had faintly squinted. _A flash?_

Soon enough, she saw him move, talking into the microphone in his watch as he did so.

"I just flashed," stated her partner, confirming her suspicions as she heard him continue speaking in her earpiece, "Waruhito Usotsuki. Worked his way up the ranks of the Yamaguchi-gumi real fast. He joined around the same time as Shinobu Tsukasa, but their relationship is largely based on their rivalry."

"Rivalry, huh?" asked Larkin, the idle chatter of the gaiety's attendees sounded clearly in the background of his side of the communications link.

"Yeah, the kind of rivalry where Usotsuki would kill a member of a rival gang and Tsukasa would up that by murdering leader of that same gang with a sword."

"Shit."

Spotting a man she deemed as Usotsuki advancing towards the head of Welling Industries, Forrest watchfully queried, "What does he look like?"

"About 5'10" wearing a white dress shirt with the top buttons undone, showing a bit of his tattoos."

Sarah announced, distinguishing the yakuza member from her position, "Bryce, he's heading your way!"

A crack shot with her tranq gun, Forrest responded to the confirmation of Usotsuki's location before Larkin even had the chance, efficaciously hitting the man on the neck with a heavy dose of a fast-acting sedative. The yakuza had been in midstride when he harmlessly slumped forward, inciting Welling and the other revelers to ignorantly regard the man as the first of many to be utterly intoxicated.

Forrest nodded to Bartowski and Walker, signaling them to take the man back to Castle for interrogation. _That was easy._

* * *

><p><strong>0000 Hours<strong>

**LEOS Inc.**

**Los Angeles, California**

"How do I know your intel is reliable?"

Usotsuki shrugged, showing no indication being shaken by the unsmiling blonde's hostility as his response was thickly laden with a Japanese accent, "You don't, which is why you'll have to act upon what I've just told you."

The man was on the receiving end of Forrest's infamous ice-cold glare before the agent abruptly stood from her seat and exited the room, a bulky metal door slid behind her, encasing the yakuza member inside.

"What are we going to do?" Chuck acknowledged his partner/mentor who had joined him and Sarah on the other side of the one-way glass; the woman was noticeably conflicted on trusting Usotsuki's information.

Having traded her 'belly dancer' costume for a less revealing black shirt and jeans, Sarah stated to the brunet operative beside her, "If it's something serious as Welling's assassination, we have no choice."

"I don't like how this is turning out," said Chuck, disquieted by the seemingly effortless capture of the Yamaguchi-gumi's 'defected' member.

Forrest rubbed her temple at the thought of their predicament. "I'm going to join Larkin in keeping watch over Welling. You two, stay here and take care of Usotsuki and Reynolds."

* * *

><p><strong>0046 Hours<strong>

**Figueroa Hotel – Terrace & Pool**

**Los Angeles, California**

Despite the late hour, the party was still in full-swing. Welling and his colleagues laughed and drank without care, persistent in their carousing. Bryce settled himself away from the riotous behavior of the inebriated guests at a reasonable distance that would allow him to act swiftly and accordingly when necessary as he kept a vigilant watch on the CEO.

"Larkin," said Forrest as she drew close, guardedly surveying the space once she positioned herself beside the agent. "You got my message?"

Baring no surprise to the unsmiling blonde's sudden arrival, Bryce replied, "Yeah. So Usotsuki is a good guy or what?"

"Not sure, but we should proceed as if he told us the truth."

"So, we shooting to kill?"

"Only if this 'assassin' proves to be hostile."

Bryce nodded, warily scrutinizing those around the software magnate. "What're your thoughts on all this?"

"I have this gut feeling," Forrest responded, repositioning her hand to hover over her concealed tranq gun, "That something doesn't add up…"

Not long after her statement, a scream pierced through the hum of insouciant conversation, promptly hushing the guests as they looked to each other, seeking out the source of the exclamation among them.

* * *

><p><strong>0046 Hours<strong>

**LEOS Inc.**

**Los Angeles, California**

_What the—?_

Sarah automatically stiffened; her fingers lingered above the keyboard for she had been in the midst of typing up her report when she perceived the mute thud seemingly from above her.

The man seated next to her appeared to have heard the dull sound as well, his reaction being one where he tilted his head back to locate its origin as he whispered, "Sarah…"

"I heard it, too." She turned to him, his gaze observably fixated on the ceiling.

"Something doesn't feel right." Noiselessly rising from his seat, Chuck moved towards the proximate console to check on the base's security camera feeds. "My Intersect senses are tingling."

The reference was lost on his blonde colleague as she looked at him questioningly, resulting in him shaking his head, "Never mind."

"Chuck," Sarah motioned her head towards the workstation, nonverbally directing him to focus on the computer he stood in front of.

Footage of various locations within the base interchanged on the screen prior to exhibiting a live video feed of the detention cells, most were unoccupied except for one.

"Usotsuki isn't there!" A crease formed in-between his brows as Chuck hastily left the terminal for the weapons room attached to Castle's primary control center.

Having left her seat to view the monitor, which revealed the smuggler listlessly reclining on his cot as he stared at the lone doorway that sanctioned entry and exit to the space he was detained in, Sarah realized that her teammate's alarm was justified – the cell in which she expected the yakuza member to spend his temporary incarceration at the base in was deserted, the only way into the room perceptibly unlocked.

The armory sealed itself as the man moved to her side, extending to Sarah her preferred sidearm while he held a tranq gun readily in his possession and checked the security camera feeds once more. _Oh, no._

The locking mechanism to the smuggler's cell had been deactivated by an outside source as the door slid aside, granting the escaped yakuza member access to walk inside. Usotsuki maintained an air of impassivity as he strode towards a startled Reynolds prior to expeditiously snapping the man's neck. Devoid of any emotion, his attention shifted from the inert body to the hidden recording device that had captured the swift dispatch of the smuggler, gazing directly at the camera prior to the screen going static.

* * *

><p><strong>0047 Hours<strong>

**Figueroa Hotel – Terrace & Pool**

**Los Angeles, California**

"Shit," Bryce spoke aloud the sole expletive that currently echoed throughout his mind and summarily rushed to the man who had crumpled to the ground whilst he returned his Heckler & Koch USP semi-automatic pistol to the back of his waistband.

Late in his forties, the man was of Japanese descent; there was a jagged scar across his face and an amalgamation of countless tattoos was visible from its concealment underneath his suit as it rose visibly to his neck, hinting at the possibility that the majority of his body was marked with the permanent body art, a telltale sign of his affiliation with the yakuza. He clutched his right shoulder, the excruciation from his injury palpable as his breaths came out ragged and his skin grew insipid whilst the cloth encircling the bullet wound darkened with sanguine.

"What the hell?" cried a younger woman whom kneeled at the scathed man's side, scowling at the brunet operative standing before her, her hazel eyes piercing his.

Determining the raven-haired woman as James Welling's daughter, Ava, Bryce struggled to find an appropriate response, _Shit. _"I— Well, you screamed."

"And that validates what exactly? That you're a trigger-happy lunatic?" Ava remained at the man's side as she glowered at the agent acting as her father's bodyguard with unparalleled vehemence. "You shot my uncle!"

_Her uncle?_ "But, you screamed…" Bryce restated inanely, catching sight of Forrest from his peripherals as the blonde operative diverted the guests from crowding around them.

"I haven't seen him in years, you—"

A pained cough escaped the older man's lips, effectively procuring his niece's attention as well as his assailant's before he spoke in his native tongue, his voice enervated as the ever-growing maroon splotch indicated the rate of his hemorrhage.

"What do you mean?" frowned Ava as she inclined her head closer to hear her uncle's words, knowledgeably applying pressure to his injury, her hands became coated in crimson as she did so.

Acquainted with the language to some extent, Bryce fathomed snippets of what the Japanese man muttered, "You and your parents in danger… Came to warn you… A revolt within the Yamaguchi-gumi… Usotsuki is a traitor… wants control of the Yamaguchi-gumi… struck a deal with… some organization… Assassin coming… Must leave…"

Ava had remained still even after her uncle finished divulging she and her family's present endangerment, her mind hurriedly processing the influx of information, consequently producing her bewilderment as to what she was supposed to do next.

As the paramedics arrived to treat her uncle, she looked to the senseless guard whom had caused her relative's impairment – the man had moved away from her and towards another of her father's hired protection, both appeared to be in a tense discussion as the blonde security escort looked more agitated than Ava had ever seen her afore.

"Larkin," hissed Forrest, staring daggers at her associate for his impetuosity. "I strongly advise you to exchange that firearm of yours for a tranq or you might find yourself back at Langley, going through basic more times than you can possibly count until you learn how to properly handle one with discretion you undoubtedly lack." She mentally snarled, _Moron._

Paying no mind to the reproachful woman scowling at him, Bryce recapped what the wounded man had told his niece, "Usotsuki turned on the Yamaguchi-gumi… He joined up with some other organization to help him seize power over the gang… There's an assassin coming…"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I apologize for the prolonged hiatus. I've been quite busy with finalizing college nonsense and partaking in senior year activities. Prom is next weekend, so that's a bit exciting, I suppose.

Yay for the limo? I don't know.

Anyways, thank you for taking the time to read the chapter! Constructive criticism and reviews are appreciated and encouraged! After all, I don't get paid, so might as well just give me your thoughts on this. Thanks again!


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